Looking Beyond
by shinigamigirl196
Summary: The first thing everyone noticed about Hope Potter was that she may have had her mother's face, but she had her father's penchant for causing trouble or somehow finding it. It only made sense that she would fall for a prankster, and it only made sense that danger was attracted to her very scent. Somehow, she was going to prove she was more than just the Girl-Who-Lived. FemHarry
1. The Start of Many Things

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**AN: ****My first try at a FemHarry, hope you all like it! This has been years in the making, I tell you!**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter One: The Start of Many Things**

* * *

Weasley family outings were rare, and even rarer were the ones that occurred in the Muggle World. So, George was a bit surprised when their dad took them out to a local zoo, in Surrey, he believed, especially since they would be leaving for Hogwarts the next day. The exhibits were alright, but it was the girl sitting in the snake area that caught his attention, distracting him from the animals. That wasn't too surprising, but he had never shown much of an interest in girls –though, he knew Fred was very much into their teammate Angelina. But, he had to admit, she was definitely eye-catching. Her hair was a dark red -darker and more obvious than his-, barely dusting her shoulders in tousled waves that he was sure Ginny would kill for -if her hair was long enough-, and he could barely see a sliver of green that was her eyes, brighter than any green he'd seen in anyone's eyes. She was cute, he supposed, but young, perhaps Ron's age, but he couldn't be sure. Her jeans were ratty and peppered with holes and she had bunched her shirt into hair tie at the back, turning the tail inward so it fit her frame better. One of her legs was stuck outward in an odd black brace; it looked uncomfortable. She stuck out like a sore thumb, the only one not staring avidly at the creatures, but doing what looked like homework in front of an empty tank that lacked glass. George was more surprised that no one else was commenting towards her and her obvious injury.

"What happened to the snake?" he asked out loud, faintly aware of his family leaving him behind and of Fred's curious glance back.

Her pen –at least, that's what he thought it was- stilled after a moment and her head twisted upwards to pierce him with those bottle green eyes. The orbs narrowed slightly, filling with suspicion as she looked him up and down before returning to her work.

"It escaped," she said in a voice that betrayed her exhaustion. It sounded too old to come from a child. "In a burst of accidental magic." Her voice had a strange lilt, like a cross between nobility and uncultured, but it wasn't unpleasant.

George's jaw unhinged as he stared at her. How did she know he was a wizard?

She arched an crimson eyebrow, before sighing and proceeding to stuff her things into her bag –books that he now could see dealt mostly with magic, but looking too advanced for someone her age. "Don't look so surprised; most kids your age hate coming to the zoo, let alone being as awed by it."

"And what about you?" George asked curiously.

"What about me?" she asked a little miffed, brushing her hair from her face as she stood, a beaded strand of her hair catching the light as she did so. "I'm just a witch."

Fred called his name in the distance and she smiled at him. "See you around, Wizard-boy." She winked and her green eyes shimmered an identical blue to his before returning to green in an instant as she disappeared through the throng of people with a fairly obvious limp, the brace making strange noises as it connected with stone.

Only after she left did George realize she hadn't told him her name.

Hope Potter was regretting that visit to the zoo when she got home, feeling very much like her leg was on fire. She rested the bag of ice she had stolen from the kitchen on the jagged and obvious dark pink scar that ran across one of her shins, the only symbol of the car accident that had rendered her immobile. She really hated Dudley now, for pushing her in front of that car. It was a miracle she was even civil to the boy, in her opinion, she should be throttling him. But she didn't. Being angry took too much energy. She winced, flexing her toes, the movement ceasing after a shock of pain shot up her leg. She hated being crippled.

Wrinkling her nose, Hope leaned over the bed to pull her heavy trunk towards her. It may have looked like an average school trunk, but it had cost her a pretty penny and had been worth every galleon, with an incredible extension charm. The trunk was almost full with her uniform (and casual wear), potion supplies, and second hand books that had once belonged to her mother –her aunt had apparently kept them out of sentiment, letting them gather dust in the attic- and a good dozen that she had either picked up from the family vault –the books being the only thing she could remove while being underage- or had bought at Flourish and Blotts.

For once, she actually had clothes that fit her. Most of them were second-hand and from local charity shops –in surprisingly good condition- including her new –and old- converses that were only a little too big for her. It was nice to own something that Dudley hadn't thrown away. And all of her things had been packed away as September first was nearly upon her. She was very eager to get away from Privet Drive, away from her _family_.

She glanced in the mirror, and she saw what she always saw; the face of her dead mother. She could see it in the shape and shade of her eyes, in the colour of her hair. She hated how much she looked like her dead mother, and she knew that's all anyone would see when they looked at her. She lifted a hand to pull on the ends of her short hair, not regretting cutting it from how long it had been before.

"A fresh start," she murmured, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Yes, I think I'll like that."

* * *

If there was one thing Hope could say that she honestly hated, it was crowds. She was not at all in her element being pushed to and fro, sending a flare of pain up her leg before she finally managed to get her trunk to the train door, but there was no way she was going to be able to heave the trunk into the train with her leg in its condition.

"Want a hand?"

She turned swiftly on heel, almost spraining the ankle of her already messed up leg in her surprise. "Wizard-boy."

"Mystery-girl," he mocked in return.

She opened her mouth to say something and then looked down a bit confused. Mystery-girl? Had she come off mysterious before? She hadn't tried to.

"That looks serious," the boy said kindly, referring to how her leg was in its brace. "Does it hurt?"

Hope wrinkled her nose slightly. "Not as much anymore, but, yeah, a little," she admitted.

"How'd you know I was a wizard?" he asked this time, more curious.

So he hadn't bought her other excuse, what a surprise, even though it was true. She sighed. "I could see the handle of your wand sticking out of your pocket, happy?"

"Exceptionally," he agreed with a wide grin, before repeating his earlier words, "Need a hand?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully, her cheeks still flushing slightly from when her eyes had met his vibrant blue ones. She had never seen eyes that colour, that bright and dark at the same time.

"George," the boy said, holding out his hand, his lips set in a smile. "Since you ran off before."

"Hope," she said, almost shyly, but that wouldn't have been much her style, sliding her hand into his. "I can assure you running is something that I am hardly capable of."

George's smile shifted into a smirk before he called over his shoulder. "Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

His twin raced over to assist him, and in no time Hope's luggage was tucked into the overhead compartment.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, brushing the hair from her eyes, an action that drew their attention automatically.

"What's that?" the second one asked, pointing at the scar on her forehead. She grimaced.

"Blimey!" George said, his eye widening comically in realization. "Are you-?"

"She is," Fred said before directing his attention to Hope, "aren't you?"

"What?" Hope asked, flummoxed.

"Hope Potter," they chorused in unison.

She arched an eyebrow at them in return. "Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?" George demanded, struck dumb.

Hope shrugged her shoulders disinterested. "It's just a name, nothing special, trust me."

She shifted uncomfortably under their stares before attempting to stumble onto the train, and she probably wouldn't have if George hadn't gripped her elbows and lifted her up. She blushed. "Thanks."

His smile was nice enough as she shut the door, the pair disappearing once their mother called out their names. They turned back briefly, giving identical waves with smiles that lit their eyes. She waved back, feeling genuine for once.

The train ride was rather pleasant and she had made a new friend, the youngest brother of Fred and George. She considered that a major accomplishment because she hadn't really ever had any friends before. Fred and George had stopped by briefly to check up on Ron and introduce themselves fully to her, she thought that was sweet. After that, she and Ron had plenty of time to talk, before they were interrupted yet again, only this time by the boy who she'd met in Madame Malkin's, Draco Malfoy, apparently was his name, and she attained an instant dislike towards him. Pureblood supremacists, if there ever were any, which she was certain there were. But that had occurred hours ago, and now she was standing next to Ron outside the massive doors that led to the Great Hall, feeling her nerves set in.

She had never been so nervous in her whole life, that much she was sure of.

"Have your brothers ever said how they sort you?" she hissed to Ron, her heart beating rather rapidly in her rib cage.

"Some sort of test," he whispered back. "Fred said it hurt a lot...I'm sure he was joking, though," he added when her face went stark white.

A test like that would be highly improbably, they were, after all, just a bunch of eleven year olds. It would be cruel to subject them to something painful...so what would it be? Before she could even ponder that, Professor McGonagall had reappeared once more, causing all the murmurs to cease in an instant.

"Now, form a line, and follow me," was all she said as she led them through the doors.

Hope was instantly in awe of the massive room beyond the doors, being far more impressive than anything she'd ever seen. There were more candles than she could count, illuminating the four long tables and the Head Table at the front, dangling high up in the air without suspension. There were so many faces baring down on them –solid and transparent blue- that Hope felt the need to stare at the ground in an effort to avoid them all. Staring made her very uncomfortable, especially since her damaged leg gave her a lot of unwanted attention.

She had to glance up rather quickly when she heard the rustic singing, coming from a _hat_ of all things! What kind of school was this, anyways?

'_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, _

_But don't judge on what you see, _

_I'll eat myself if you can find _

_A smarter hat than me. _

_You can keep your bowlers black, _

_Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_And I can cap them all. _

_There's nothing hidden in your head _

_The Sorting Hat can't see, _

_So try me on and I will tell you _

_Where you ought to be. _

_You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_Where dwell the brave at heart, _

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry _

_Set Gryffindors apart; _

_You might belong in Hufflepuff _

_Where they are just and loyal, _

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_And unafraid of toil; _

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_If you've a ready mind, _

_Where those of wit and learning, _

_Will always find their kind; _

_Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_You'll make your real friends, _

_Those cunning folk use any means _

_To achieve their ends. _

_So put me on! Don't be afraid! _

_And don't get in a flap! _

_You're in safe hands (though I have none) _

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!' _

She was still staring at it even after the song had ended and the whole hall had burst into applause. Was this normal?

"It's just a hat!" Ron laughed to Hope. "I'm going to kill Fred! He said we were going to have to wrestle a troll!"

Hope chuckled weakly, but trying on the hat was not going to make her less nervous. She hoped it didn't have any high expectations for her, no one ever did.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, gesturing to the stool beside her as she lifted the hat from it, reading the first name on her list, "Abbott, Hannah!"

The blonde girl stumbled out of the line, trembling slightly as she sat on the stool, the hat dropping onto her head. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hope jumped violently at both the yell and the explosion of cheering to the right, the table that Hannah scrambled over to.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The list went on with sporadic calls of "RAVENCLAW!", "HUFFLEPUFF!", "GRYFFINDOR!", and "SLYTHERIN!". Her anxiety increased as the names were called, steadily growing closer to the P's. She was starting to feel truly sick to her stomach when "Potter, Hope!" was called out.

Whispers broke out suddenly as she removed herself from the line, the steady click of her cane connecting with the stone floor as she limped forward.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Hope Potter?"

"What'd she do to that leg?"

She tried her best to ignore how the students and teachers in the hall were craning to see her before the brim of the hat hid them from view.

"Ah," a small voice, the same rustic tone that the song had been sung it, "an enigma, are you? A remarkable mind...quite loyal too, with courage, such courage! And a thirst to prove yourself...but where shall I put you?"

Hope bit her lip.

"What?" the hat's voice had grown amused. "No preference?"

"What's the point?" she thought back. "Aren't you supposed to choose?"

It chuckled. "Analyze yourself, Miss Potter, look beyond the shell and gaze within to who you truly are."

She recoiled slightly in surprise. "Analyze...?" She thought briefly for a moment. "I am smart," she admitted, "more street-smart than book-smart, but I do like to learn, more about things that many disregard, but I'm not the studious type; trouble and I tend to go hand in hand. I don't know much about loyalty, I've only had one friend, other than that, the only thing I'm loyal to is my parents' memory. Ambitious...I suppose, but not overtly so; I'm not the type to step over others to reach my goals. Brave...well, I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe, if that's what you mean."

She could swear the hat was smirking when it spoke a few last words in her mind, before speaking her house aloud. "Very good, you really must come visit me...Your grandfather may not be pleased, Miss Potter, but I will be sending you to...GRYFFINDOR!"

Her face lit up at the loudest cheer yet filled the hall and she made her way towards the table, sliding into the area next to Hermione Granger, laughing aloud as Fred and George did a little victory dance, yelling "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Was this what a new start felt like? She found she quite liked it.

And just like that, she completely forgot about the hat's comment about her grandfather.

* * *

Hope really shouldn't have tested her luck, but in all honesty, she hadn't been able to sleep a few hours ago, and it was now nearing midnight. After all her dorm mates had gone to sleep, Hope had snuck out, her feet taking her to the top of the Astronomy Tower. She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, but it was long enough to convince her that it was one of the best places on earth, where you could see the stars so very clearly. You couldn't get a view like that from her window at Privet Drive.

"My, my. Already sneaking out after dark, Miss Potter?" One voice chided in the darkness, sending a chill down her spine.

"A girl after my own heart," said the second voice as a pair of identical (almost) red-heads grinning down at her.

Hope Potter relaxed her posture slightly, wincing (obviously) at the white-hot flare of pain that shot up her injured leg. She leaned her arm against the wall, and the second one –George- was instantly apologetic.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"Its fine," Hope said through gritted teeth, releasing a tired sigh as the feeling faded. "You get used to it after awhile…causing trouble already?"

The identical smirks bared down on her as their answer and she chuckled under her breath.

"So," Fred began.

"What're you doing-" Fred continued.

"-out so late?" they both finished.

She stared, bemused. "Do you always finish each other's sentences like that?"

"Always," they chirped.

Her green eyes twinkled in amusement, but she didn't comment on it.

"You never answered our question," George reminded her, the pair becoming thoroughly confused when a growing flush of embarrassment appeared on the Girl-Who-Lived's cheeks.

"I was star-gazing," she admitted, brushing past them and towards the Fat Lady, leaving the Weasley Twins rather puzzled as to why she was star-gazing.

Hope could be found the next morning going through the books she had haphazardly stuffed into her bag, while eating her food half-heartedly. "What's our first class today?" she asked her friend, Ron Weasley, glancing over the contents, ensuring that her ink wouldn't spill where it was.

"Potions!" he groaned into his porridge. "I've heard he's horrid!"

"Too true-"

"Little bro'."

Hope arched an eyebrow as the pair slid into the seat next to Ron and opposite her. George winked and Fred grinned.

"What?" she asked slowly and suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," Fred said in a faux-innocent voice that convinced no one.

"Just wanting to know," George continued with another roguish wink (Hope could feel her cheeks pinking; was he doing that on purpose?).

"What you were doing in the Astronomy Tower-"

"At midnight last night."

Hope's vibrant eyes narrowed. "Are you always this inquisitive?"

"Only when we catch ickle first years sneaking out after hours," Fred informed her solemnly.

"Congrats!" George gave her a double thumbs up. "You are officially a rebel!"

Her lips twitched in amusement. "Is that so?" She glanced to Ron who rolled his eyes at her. "Besides," she added, "I told you last night I was star-gazing. Come on, Ron, let's get going."

Ron shoveled one last mouthful of breakfast into his mouth as he joined his friend on the way to class.

"Did you really sneak out last night?" Ron was a bit in awe of her, slowing his pace to match his crippled friend's.

"Is that so surprising?" she asked in amusement.

"A bit," he admitted.

"You are talking to someone who perfected the art of lock-picking at the age of five and routinely stole from the grocery store," Hope responded just as easily before sitting down in the seat beside him. "I'm no saint, trust me."

Ron shook his head, laughing slightly but abruptly halting when the door slammed shut by the professor that many feared.

Hope didn't think he looked like much. His skin was sallow from potion fumes, his dark robes making it more obvious, his lips curled into a permanent frown. It was easy to take note of such things when you grew up trying to figure out whether or not to avoid your aunt and uncle. The hate in his eyes as they glanced over her in barely a second was clearly perceivable and it confused Hope.

"Ah, yes," he said, his snide voice soft, almost dangerously so, but not quite, "Hope Potter. Our new_- celebrity_."

Hope's eyebrow twitched, but other than that, her face displayed no other signs of emotion. She had the perfect poker face, Ron had to admit. She carefully ignored the sniggers of the arrogant Purebloods that she had met on the train.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquid that creeps through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach." It was an enthralling speech, or at least, it would have been, had Hope been listening, but she was currently fascinated by the sheer number of potion bottles littering the room with varying colours and substances within.

"Potter!" She almost jumped, her eyes coming off a bit wild. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hope sulked briefly at how he was picking her out, ignoring how Hermione's irritating hand shot up off to the side of her and Ron. She wracked her brain briefly. "The Draught of Living Death…right?"

He seemed slightly surprised that she would know that, but she had only known about that one because it caused a death-like trance.

"And where would I find a bezoar?"

"Inside the stomach of a goat," Hope recited, having read it in _Antidotes to Common Poisons_. However, she was growing tired of the game.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now, Hermione's hand was almost connecting with the ceiling as she had stood up.

"Oh, I don't know, Professor, perhaps you should ask Hermione instead," Hope replied with a touch of boredom leaking into her voice. A few people laughed, and Seamus winked at her; she gave him one in return, her lips twitching upwards slightly.

Snape wasn't too pleased, though, and proceeded to give them a lecture on where and what they properly were.

"A point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."

The second he turned his back, Hope stuck out her tongue in blatant disrespect, earning her an annoyed noise from Hermione, which she ignored.

The lesson went downhill from there, and Hope found herself wishing that she didn't have him as her teacher because clearly he had some unresolved issues to work out. Hope had never hated a teacher, but as she left Snape's class, she was sure she would hate him.

"Don't get too upset," Ron consoled her, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come meet Hagrid with you?"

"Sure," Hope said, "but what do your brothers do to lose points?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "They're pranksters; a better question is what haven't they done?"

Hope laughed aloud, her eyes lighting up in such a way that Professor McGonagall who was walking by was distinctly reminded of a young Lily Evans.

* * *

Hope limped over to one of the library's shelves, replacing the books she had used to finish her essays where they belonged. She glanced over to the main table; she was still there. Daphne Greengrass, she thought her name was, a Slytherin, but she didn't mind. Daphne had come in the library around the same time as her, but it was clear that she was struggling with that Transfiguration essay.

The blonde jumped a bit when Hope dropped the book she'd used for her essay onto the space next to her.

She gave an apologetic smile to the girl. "Sorry, just thought you'd want this for the Transfiguration essay."

Daphne's big blue eyes stared at her, then at the book. "Err...thanks."

"No problem," Hope said cheerfully as she pulled her bag over her shoulders and gripped her cane under her hand, moving with surprising grace towards the exit. It hadn't occurred to either of them that that was the first instance of civility between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin in over a decade.

Hope had to blink rather suddenly when her feet were lifted from the ground and she found herself with her arms around George Weasley's neck and her legs around his waist-the brace having been removed earlier that day by Madame Pomfrey who had told her that her leg had healed enough that she could go without it. Amusement lit her features.

"Weasley, are you this sweet to all the new girls?" she asked in a light voice, winking to the boy's twin who snickered.

"Just the pretty ones!" George informed her in a light voice, making her cheeks burn pink.

"Mr. Weasley! Miss Potter! What in the name of Merlin are you doing?!"

Three heads twisted to the right to see a stunned Professor McGonagall.

"We're going on an adventure!" Fred said, striking a dramatic pose. "And the fair maiden is not permitted to walk, so we have brought this mighty steed to whisk her away!"

"I know you didn't just compare me to a horse, Freddie!"

"Oh, I think I did, Georgie!"

Hope couldn't help but burst out into peals of laughter at the combined antics of the twins and the expression colouring Professor McGonagall's face.


	2. Finding a Home in the Lion's Den

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Two: Finding a Home in the Lion's Den**

* * *

"Hand it over, Weasley!"

"Not on your life, Potter!"

Angelina Johnson still couldn't help but be amused by the antics between Hope and George; one could say it was even flirting. She wondered if they knew about the betting pool Gryffindor House had started. She and Fred were jointly betting on Hope's third year; it was a general consensus to not date until you could actually leave the grounds (now if only she could convince him to take her out to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer…). Lee Jordan thought she could hold out until fourth year, but Angelina doubted that. Hope would know when she was caught, that she was sure of. Even if Hope was remarkably resilient, Angelina had noticed how her smile often met her eyes whenever Fred and George (though, generally only George) cracked a joke.

Currently, the pair was making quite a scene by George holding her book over his head –and he was already quite a bit taller than her- and she used her cane to elevate her upwards, but it didn't seem to be working (it was lucky Hope always wore long black leggings, because if she hadn't, Angelina was sure she would be giving everyone quite a show). Angelina knew better than to take the pair seriously; it was obvious they thought of it as a game, much to the disgust of Ron.

She secretly believed the youngest Weasley boy to be a bit envious of how casual she was with the twins, but he never said a word on the matter. Ron saw her more than the twins, anyways, since she and Ron were two years behind them.

"If you give it to me, I'll tell you how I pranked you," Hope coaxed, her smile on the sly side. The prank was a bit spectacular in that she had actually managed to prank them without them having any knowledge of it until after it happened. For the whole day, their robes had changed colour sporadically, and each colour was more outrageous than the last. Hope had told Angelina that it was a rather simple spell, if Fred and George bothered to look for it.

The book was in her hands within seconds.

"Later," she finished, the smile widening when the twins gave identical groans. She and Ron high-fived. "How does it feel to be played, boys?"

Fred's pout was more pronounced as Angelina laughed with them.

"You two," Angelina called over to the only first-years that weren't scared of getting pranked for hanging out with them, "Your flying lessons start today, don't they?"

The mention of flying had an instantaneous effect; Ron grinned and Hope grimaced.

"Worried?" Lee guessed from where he sat with his legs looped under the stone bench, on which his crossed arms supported his head.

Hope laughed uneasily, shifting her weight uncomfortably as she did so. "It's just that I don't like making a fool of myself, especially in the air, and doubly especially in front of Malfoy."

It hadn't been hard to pick up the resentment between her and the Malfoy scion.

"Not making a fool of myself in general would be nice," she concluded as an afterthought, looking strangely wane, as if she was used to making a fool out of herself.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Alicia assured her, closing her book on her Charms essay. "Better than Lee or Fred and George; they tripped over thin air, if I recall correctly."

"Don't tell them that, Alicia!" The twins wailed, appalled, but Hope cracked a grin.

"Well, here's to hoping," she muttered under her breath, chuckling softly at the small pun she'd made on herself. "We'd better go, Ron," she added in a louder tone, "wouldn't want to be late."

Once they were out of earshot, Ron asked the question that was bugging him.

"Was it really you that pranked Fred and George?"

Hope snorted. "Yes, is that surprising?"

"Very," Ron admitted, staring at her with something akin to awe. "People don't generally try, seeing as they would never get away with it."

That seemed to amuse her, because the smile she tossed his way was very light-hearted, even as they strode across the lawn to the area opposite of the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy was quickly becoming one of the most irritating creatures she had ever had the unfortunate opportunity to meet, such as the instance when she took up residence beside a free broom.

"Perfect Potter finally shows up for class," he said with a distinct sneer.

"Class hasn't started yet, moron," Hope said coolly, "but I guess your education didn't cover telling time, did it?"

Malfoy's cheeks turned pink and he opened his mouth to retort as a few of the Gryffindors snickered at the insult when Madame Hooch, the flying instructor blew her whistle, signalling the start of class. When Hope had first caught sight of her, she had likened her to a hawk, and she could still see the likeness.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she demanded, the irritation seeping into her voice as if they should have already known what to do even before she spoke. "Everyone stand by a broomstick, Come on, hurry up."

Hope's gaze shifted downward to her broom. The lack of uniformity worried her (meaning it looked too old to be considered a broomstick and the twigs weren't all facing in the same direction). Hope had had a front seat when Fred and George had complained about how handicapping the school brooms were. Riding something that was clearly unstable was not in her top ten things to do before she died.

"Stick out your right hand," Madam Hooch continued as if she hadn't seen the many uneasy glances between her students, and say 'up!'."

A chorus of "_UP!_"s filled the air, and Hope was faintly startled when her broomstick shot into her hand instantly, but those that did were few in number. Some didn't even bother moving; maybe some people were just meant to keep their feet firmly on the ground.

Once they'd all managed to get their brooms into their hands –some ended up just grabbing the broom from the ground once Madam Hooch turned her back-, their instructor began to teach them how to properly grip and mount the broom. She did have a small amount of mirth when Malfoy was told he'd been flying incorrectly for years; karma's a bitch, isn't she?

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, hard," Madam Hooch ordered, glaring at them all. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three- two-"

She didn't have time to blow her whistle when Neville Longbottom accidentally pushed off the ground too soon. It was quite obvious that he was completely terrified, so Hope couldn't help but wonder if yelling at him was going to get him to comply. She doubted; people did strange things when they were scared. You needed to calm them down first, and Madam Hooch wasn't helping.

Neville was shooting upwards much like a rock shot out of a volcano, at that height, Hope doubted he could hear anything but his own whimpers of fear.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch yelled despite Hope's thoughts.

The yell, it seemed, could still penetrate his auditory cortex, because he gave a startled gasp and slipped from the broom to fall a good twenty feet and impact with the ground with a dull thud. Hope was sure she wasn't the only one that winced.

Their flying instructor was at his side in a moment as the Gryffindors watched anxiously and the Slytherins sniggered behind their hands. Hope listened intently for a few seconds, garnering that he'd broken his wrist a bit badly. That was never fun; Hope had that happen to her when she was nine, it made completing assignments a bit difficult.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" Madam Hooch's glittering eyes surveyed them all as if trying to glare them into compliance. "You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch". Come on, dear."

Not two seconds after she and Neville were out of earshot did Draco Malfoy burst into laughter, cruel laughter, Hope thought with a frown. What kind of person laughs at another person's pain? But this was Malfoy she was talking about; every bone in his body was cruel.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" He demanded through laughter as his fellows joined him. Slytherin really was a rather unpleasant lot, weren't they?

"Shut up, Malfoy," a voice snapped. Hope was almost surprised that it was Parvati Patil that had spoken; she had hardly heard her speak of anything that wasn't fashion or make-up.

Hope did her best to ignore the Slytherins, but she caught Daphne's eye and the girl rolled her eyes obviously to her. Clearly, she didn't approve of her classmates either. Hope's lips twitched in response.

"Look!"

This time, Hope did look, and instantly, her eyes narrowed into a glare; Malfoy was clutching Neville's Remembrall in his pale hand.

"It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" Malfoy jeered.

"Hand that over."

Hope's voice had taken on a quiet and a dangerous edge. The tone itself should have been a warning, but Malfoy it seemed was incapable of complying to warnings whether or not they were clear to see. It was times like these that Hope liked to fondly remember all those detentions she'd earned in Muggle school for her…explosive behaviour.

Maybe he hadn't heard her.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere up high," he decided with a nasty grin that didn't much suit the nice weather they were having today. "How about in a tree?"

"Hand it over!" she snapped, but Malfoy had already taken flight, hovering above a rather tall oak tree that Hope would have probably climbed if her leg hadn't been so badly damaged.

"Come and get it, Potter!"

The jibe was there, waiting-

"Or are you as slow in the air as you are on the ground?"

Hope schooled her usually expression-filled face into a calm mask as she threw her leg over the broom and pushed off from the ground with more force than she probably should have. She could feel the gust of wind hitting her face, rustling her hair, and swirling around her as she rose and instantly she knew flying would be one of her favourite pastimes; who didn't want to feel as if they were higher than the world?

"Hand it over," she repeated once again, her voice remarkably cool, "or I'll knock you to the ground and break your wrist while I'm at it."

"Oh, yeah?" Malfoy demanded, but his face was a little pale, because Hope was looking completely serious when she administered that threat to his well-being. "Catch it, then, if you can!"

He really shouldn't have pressed his luck when Hope flew past him in the direction he had thrown the palm-sized ball. The ball was nearly invisible, but Hope could see the light glancing off it as it was flung through the air. She sped the broom between her legs forward, the noise around her blurring into nonsensical sounds. The world fell out around her as her focus sharpened; it was only her and that stupid clear ball of Neville's (he was going to owe her for this, she swore).

She ducked into a graceful dive, triumph colouring her face when she pulled up, the light orb clutched in her hand. That triumph faded rather abruptly, however, when she heard the yell of "HOPE POTTER!"

She opted for a single word response that she felt summed up the whole troublesome situation. "Shite."

* * *

Hope was feeling rather tired after staying up until nearly midnight the night previously due to some botched midnight duel that she hadn't been much keen on to start with. By some miracle she'd managed to not be expelled for her actions the day before–though she doubted one could really be expelled for a short fly- and even more miraculously had managed to land a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia had been impressed when they had heard the story from Ron –whom had elaborated on several parts, she'd noticed. The attention they had paid her made her cheeks pink. But today she could hardly keep her eyes open as she attempted to eat her breakfast, and ended up resting her head tiredly on Lee Jordan's shoulder.

"I am _never_ doing that again," she decided resolutely in exhaustion, her voice low and quiet as she contemplated dumping the milk jug on Ron's head, since it was his ludicrous idea. "_Worst_ idea you've ever come up with!"

"On the bright side," Ron continued over her, "you can't say Fred and George have ever done something like that before."

"What haven't we done?" a pair of nearly identical voices inquired of them, announcing the arrival of Ron's older brothers.

"Had a midnight rendezvous go south, so south, in fact, that you nearly get eaten by a three-headed dog," Hope said in a remarkable deadpan.

"Well, no," Fred admitted.

"But who would we have to meet in a midnight rendezvous?" George added, giving her another one of his winks.

She gave him, in return, one of her baleful stares. "One day, Weasley," she muttered under her breath, slapping both of her cheeks so she could wake up a bit more, "I am going to one-up you, just you wait."

"I look forward to it, Potter."

She smirked. "Oh, you do, do you?" Her smile was a bit on the mysterious side. "I would like to see you try."

"Don't say that!" Ron hissed, his voice humorous. "Now he'll be even more insufferable!"

"Has anyone told you that your eyes are unbelievably beautiful?" George asked instead, ignoring their friends and smirking as her cheeks burned a bright red.

"I am going to kill you," she threatened mildly, standing up so that the height difference wasn't quite so pronounced. "And I bet your mother will agree with my reasoning."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The pair was leaning so close together that they were practically nose to nose.

"If you two are quite finished with your flirting," Alicia added, giggling when the pair jumped back like they'd been burned. "Hope, Ron, don't you have class?"

"_Oh!_" The first years made identical noises of surprise and scrambled to collect their things, bidding them a hasty farewell and racing –and limping- off to class, not knowing that hours later both would be put in a predicament that would forge one of the strongest friendships known to Wizard-kind.

Either way, Hope wasn't a fan of Halloween, especially since it was the day her parents had died, but it was now officially the worst holiday of the year, if the troll in front of her was anything to go off of. The year had started out fine, she supposed, she'd made a few friends, even managed to get onto the Quidditch Team (though that was completely by accident), but it had also had downsides, like her Potion's Professor, for one, since he hated her guts, and Draco Malfoy who goaded her every chance he could, jabbing mostly at her lame leg which had been injured in a car accident a few months earlier (it was healing Madame Pomfrey had told her, but at a very slow rate).

None of that was going to help her now.

Hermione Granger was attempting to make herself as small as possible, looking as though she would keel over any second. The troll, on the other hand, wasn't stalling in its lumbering movements towards her.

"Distract it!" Hope called over to Ron, fortunately causing the troll to stop, but unfortunately its attention then shifted to Hope who was as white as a sheet.

"Oy, pea-brain!" Ron yelled on the fly, clearly not coming up with a very witty insult as he threw a metal pipe at the troll's shoulder. The troll didn't seem to notice the pipe, though it did hear Ron's voice.

That distraction gave Hope just enough time to limp badly around it to half-drag the girl from the rubble, but she was very resistant, staring at the troll in open-mouthed horror.

"Come on, run!" Hope commanded.

The yells echoing off the tile wall seemed to drive the troll insane as it twisted its head violently, quickening towards Ron, until Hope did something similarly insane: she had done a stumbling run and by some miracle had managed to link her arms around his neck. The downside: she'd accidentally shoved her wand up his nose; she imagined this was rather painful going by how it yelled, moving its body and club in such a way that Hope was sure it was going to be the end of her short life when Ron did something that she later swore she'd kiss him for.

He raised his wand and said: "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The club lifted from the troll's grip to hover in the air above its head before smashing into the skull of its owner with an ominous and sickening crack. Its eyes rolled up and its whole body collapsed, sending Hope sprawling and coughing, her whole body aching.

It was hard to say who was the most stunned, but Hope was sure she was the most in pain as she struggled to stand. The carnage was a haze of colour, blurring together so that Hope had to lean against the wall to remain stable, feeling very much like she'd gone through the wringer.

"Is it-dead?" Hermione asked haltingly as Hope attempted to steady her heartbeat.

"Doubtful," Hope gasped, "more likely it's knocked out."

Ron pulled Hope's wand from its nose making a disgusted sound as he wiped the bogies on the troll's trousers before handing it back to his friend. "Are you alright?"

"Let me catch my breath," Hope said in exhaustion, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

The Fates weren't really working in their favour it seemed, but then, she supposed, they probably had been making quite a racket with their yells and screams. Somehow, Hope was a bit surprised that the professors hadn't shown up before then.

Hope blinked, her vision clearing enough to see that McGonagall was the angriest she had ever seen her, but Hope wasn't too perturbed; they hadn't done anything wrong, really.

"What on earth were you thinking of?!" she demanded, the fury in her voice echoing in the silence. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"I was thinking," Hope said suddenly as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, "that if Ron and I hadn't come looking for Hermione, she'd probably be dead." Her tired eyes were focused on the ground, and it was then that she noticed the rip of Snape's robes, barely exposing the obvious bite mark on his leg.

"And why would Miss Granger even be here in the first place?" Snape asked snidely.

Hope shifted her gaze upwards to glare. "I believe it would be something along the lines of recovering composure, _sir_." Her voice had grown as cold as it had when she was addressing Malfoy only two days previously. She wondered why Snape flinched at it, though, that was a bit curious by itself.

McGonagall seemed to have calmed down somewhat, though she appeared to still be heavily annoyed with them. Again, Hope felt the need to mentally point out that they really hadn't done anything wrong, not that their teachers could read her mind...or could they? That would be something interesting to look up. "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could take on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor House five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Ron helped Hope into a standing position, and after a quick search found her cane, and the three set off towards the common room. No words were spoken between the three as they stood before the Fat Lady. The awkward silence settled down on them.

"So," Hope said quietly, "is this the part where we hug and make up?"

They both smiled as Hope gave the password and entered the room, following a second later. Hope had already been swept away by one of her Quidditch teammates, Angelina Johnson who was inspecting her face closely. "Ah, hell, what have been doing to yourself? George, keep an eye on her, I'm going to grab some things."

"I got it, Ang!"

Hope's cheeks filled with colour as she was suddenly lifted over the older boy's shoulder much like a fire-fighter. "_Hey-hey-hey_! What're you _doing_?! Put me _down_!"

Ron snickered at her predicament and even an amused smile spread across Hermione's face.

"George! Hey! You're not helping!"

Before Ron or Hermione even had time to blink, George had practically chained her to Angelina's vacated armchair.

"Alright, Ron?" Fred called from the couch, glancing quickly over the boy as if searching for injuries, but it seemed that Hope was the one most prone to injuries, and thus, while Ron and Hermione had escaped the troll attack unscathed, Hope looked much like she had gone face first through a window. The cuts to her face were quite extensive, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't been sent to the hospital wing, but then, this was Hope she was talking about. The only times where she hadn't gone voluntarily to see Madam Pomfrey occurred when she was forcibly carried there by either of the twins –who were consequently the only ones strong enough to carry her and ignore the derogatory comments spewing from her mouth at the exact same time.

"Fine," Ron said, slumping tiredly into the empty seat beside him. "How does a troll get into Hogwarts, anyways?"

"Well," Hermione spoke, her voice quiet from her encounter with the troll, "there are supposed to be enchantments that protect the entire school, hiding it from prying eyes."

"It's protected by blood wards."

Three pairs of eyes stared her and Fred snorted. George was smushing her cheeks in his hands where she wasn't cut.

"George..."

He grinned.

She pulled his hands from her face (Hermione noticed George didn't let her hands go, his grip a little tight; he must have been worried about her) and turned her attention on Ron. "Blood warding is one of the oldest forms of magic in the world, the protection they offer is...substantial," she explained as the stares turned on her, a pale, barely noticeable flush dusting her cheeks. "My house has blood wards around it, but they're a bit different. Blood wards are the highest protection you can get; it's why Curse-Breakers have such a hard time breaking into tombs. Only an exceptionally powerful wizard could rip a hole in that kind of barrier."

"So," Fred continued, surprisingly subdued, "someone inside the school let it in, that's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"It does seem highly plausible," Hope admitted, her eyes locking with Ron's for less than a second, and in that instant he was sure he'd read her mind.

The Gringotts break-in that had occurred on her birthday, that was a source of intrigue. Hope had said that the day Hagrid had taken her to Gringotts; he had removed something from a Vault 713, a small package. Whatever it was, it was worth something to someone if they went so far as to attempt to burglarize Gringotts. "Hogwarts business" was what she'd said he called it, so did that mean-? His eyes widened slightly and hers twinkled in return.

It took him a bit, but he was still a bit smarter than the average student. He noticed no one else had been able to theorize as far ahead as Hope, but then, no one had her inquisitive nature.

"Ow!"

Angelina had caught her off guard as she pressed what must have been the magical equivalent of Hydrogen Peroxide against the cuts on her face. "Holy Hell!"

"Oh, stop whining!" Angelina admonished the girl, but grinning all the same. "Don't be such a baby!"

Hope couldn't help but pout.


	3. Daring Rescues

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Three: Daring Rescues**

* * *

The first thing that Hermione had learned about Hope Potter was that she was very easy-going. She was very amicable with her Quidditch mates, some on the level of how she spoke with her or Ron. Ron's brothers in particular, she'd noticed. The gentle teasing that occurred between her and Fred and George was a bit surprising; she hadn't thought they'd be people she would be friends with. Hermione could see when they were off on a prank, because Hope ran point, distracting Percy by picking his brain about the limitations of the metal a needle could transform into, or perhaps even why plants that were considered muggle weren't used in potions? They were really good questions (things that Hermione was curious about as well), and somehow the prefect didn't see through her misdirection because of how honest her face was.

A week after they had become friends, Ron and Hermione followed Hope up to the hospital wing where she had her routine weekly check-up.

Madame Pomfrey tapped her leg in several places, the wand tip glowing slightly, illuminating her bare skin strangely. The scar on her leg was a bit on the obvious side, with a jagged dark pink line marring across the front of her shin, but when Hermione blinked, she thought it looked a bit smaller. Madame Pomfrey winked surreptitiously before falling into a focused mask.

"Alright, now I want you to stand on your leg for as long as possible," Madame Pomfrey said to the girl who wrinkled her nose in distaste, but stood all the same, balancing with difficulty on her damaged leg. Ron held onto her cloak -since it was made of a heavier material than her uniform- and bag for her, being surprisingly patient.

The seconds ticked by slowly as Hope's countenance faltered and exhaustion lined her fair face. Hermione hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until her chest began to hurt.

"I've got this," she grumbled to herself, before pitching forward rather suddenly so that Hermione and Ron had to grab her elbows to keep her from face-planting into the floor. "Okay, maybe not," she admitted once they'd hoisted her back onto the infirmary bed.

"Not quite, Miss Potter," Madame Pomfrey informed her with a curt voice, "but you are making much progress, faster than I could have ever imagined, perhaps by the end of next year you will be completely healed, if you're lucky."

"I can be very lucky," Hope said optimistically, her grin hopeful (pun not intended) and her eyes bright.

Ron tried his best not to snort, but it came out strangled; Hope already had the worst luck than anyone he'd ever met.

Hope shot him a filthy look, looping her bag over her shoulder and stalking weakly out of the hospital doors to ram right into another body, sending her tumbling backwards gripped her face and groaning from the contact. "Aw, Dammit, Weasley!"

Fred laughed where he and George and Lee happened to have been passing on their way to class. "It's not my fault you fall over yourself whenever I'm around."

"Oh, really?" Hope said, faintly amused at his antics, as she always was concerning the Pranksters of Hogwarts. "That's some delusion you're having, Fred."

"How'd you know I was Fred?" the twin asked in surprise; even their mother got it wrong sometimes, but Hope was on a roll, no slip ups yet.

Hope's eyes twinkled. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

George gaped at her. "How d'you know about that?"

Now all three thirst years were staring at them oddly. "Know about what?" they all asked with varying degrees of scepticism and confusion.

"Oh, er, nothing!" Fred said quickly, waving his hands frantically.

"Gotta run!" George added just as feverishly.

And the two dragged Lee away and beat a hasty retreat, leaving three pairs of eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are they always that odd?" Hermione voiced after a few moments.

"Pretty much," Ron said tiredly, "though they seem to have taken Hope as a personal challenge."

She rolled her eyes at them. "Oh, don't worry, they just appreciate my tenacity for trouble."

"I don't think that's a good thing," Hermione said slowly, but Ron just laughed and shook his head.

"Just go with it. She's not going to change anytime soon," he advised. "Hey, Hope! Wait up!"

"Time and tide waits for no woman-slash-man!" Hope called over her shoulder. "And neither does our next class!"

"Oh!" Hermione quickened her pace to catch up them, determined not to lose her friends so soon after gaining them.

* * *

Hope did not sleep well on the eve of her first Quidditch match, her worries clinging to her heart with razor sharp claws. What if she didn't catch the snitch? What if she disappointed her team? What if she disappointed Professor McGonagall? What if… What if… and then there was something else bothering her.

"_Look beyond_."

Those words echoed in her ears like a dull bell that tolled for hours on end. She didn't understand them at all. She hated not understanding.

"_Analyze yourself, Miss Potter, look beyond the shell and gaze within to who you truly are_." Those were the words of the Sorting Hat, but she had a feeling that they weren't his. She opened her eyes, staring above her with a blank expression, twisting on the mattress as if searching for the perfect spot to lie, but there was one.

Look beyond…did it mean to see past disguises? Or perhaps to not take things for granted? Even her speculations sounded weak and feeble in her mind, and what was that jibe about her grandfather, anyways?

Finally, she couldn't stand it, and she threw her covers from her body and limped painfully down the stairs to the common room. She was a little surprised to find that it wasn't completely empty.

Neville Longbottom had found himself plagued by persisting nightmares, and, feeling trapped in his dorm, had made his way down the stairs to sit on the window seat. The peace and quiet seemed deafening; he couldn't stand it. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he jumped rather wildly when a soft voice said, "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Sorry," Hope apologized, "I didn't mean to scare you."

It was strange to see the Girl-Who-Lived out of the school uniform, that was the first thing he thought. Rather unlike him, her pajamas were mismatched with loose blue checkered bottoms that were so long they dragged on the floor and ratty shirt that hung loosely on her frame. The moonlight crossed her face, painting her hair with stardust and her cheeks with a silver blush. It was equally strange to see her out of the company of Ron or Hermione (the trio was practically inseparable these days) or the Weasley Twins who had taken a keen interest in her soon after she had arrived. Neville had opted to stay out of the betting pool concerning her and George. He wouldn't have imagined that she was the type of person that would be awake at odd hours of the night or even be someone that would talk to him.

"Er…its fine," he said a bit breathlessly, "yeah, sit…I mean, if you want to."

Her smile was a bit on the indulgent side, it reminded him a little of his Gran.

"Nightmare or can't sleep?" she inquired, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. The lightning bolt scar on her forehead seemed to gleam in the darkness.

"Nightmare," he admitted.

Hope nodded in understanding. "I am no stranger to those." Neville felt grateful that she didn't ask him what it was about.

"You're Frank and Alice Longbottom's son, aren't you?"

Neville's whole body went cold and his heart dropped into his stomach as his head flashed up, his eyes meeting hers. Her eyes were sad. She had never been in the situation he had, but she too had grown up without a parent's guiding hand, and he'd heard stories about the muggle family she'd been raised by –her mother's sister's family, he was sure-, like how her cousin had pushed her in front of a car (he didn't know what that was, but from Dean, he'd gathered that it was an object that could move at fast speeds) and caused her leg to be the way it was. He wasn't sure who between the two of them got the worst deal.

"I read about the Lestrange Trial in the _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_," Hope said quietly. "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents."

Neville had never heard someone sound so completely downtrodden concerning his parents.

"Alice was my godmother, did you know that?" she asked out of the blue. "I only just found out when I was at Gringotts a few months back, they told me what happened to her and her husband."

Neville didn't say anything to that. What could he?

"Do you visit them often?" she asked.

"Every Christmas," he said, equally as quietly.

"Would you…" her voice faded slightly as her indecision, before it faintly revived, "next time you see them, would you tell them that I say hi?"

Tears pricked Neville's eyes as she asked that question.

"Why?"

"Why not?" Hope asked unperturbed, making Neville stare at her. It was times like these that he had to remind himself that Hope had been raised by muggles and as such viewed the world a bit differently.

"They…" His throat closed up, and he couldn't seem to force the words from his mouth.

"They won't understand?" Hope guessed in a wane manner. "Maybe they do, maybe they don't, but it's the thought that counts, Neville. What if they can hear and can understand but just can't speak or move in the correct way? Wouldn't you like to tell them things, anyways?"

Neville bit the inside of his mouth, but she wasn't wrong. Maybe he would try talking more next time, they might like that.

"Goodnight, Neville."

"G-goodnight!" he called after her quickly, watching as she used the furniture to help her to the stairway that led to the girl's dorms. "Good luck tomorrow!"

She just waved a casual hand airily, disappearing upstairs and leaving Neville to his thoughts.

* * *

"No, you're doing it wrong, you've got to crush it with the flat side of the blade."

"Eh?" Hope gaped at him, her potion's book propped up against the milk jug as George corrected her. "But it says cut!"

Hermione generally didn't pay attention much to the banter (though she would more closely relate it to flirting, but she opted to not say anything) that was common place between Hope Potter and George Weasley, but since this one was about a school subject, she listened in.

"More juice comes out if you crush it, though," George responded in amusement, leaning his cheek into his fist surveying the person that brought his cheekiness and joking nature to the surface in every conversation they held.

"Show me." The order was barely there, but her eyes were begging him, and who could resist those big green eyes? Certainly not the person who had called them "unbelievably beautiful."

"You got your potion's supplies?" he asked a brief second before riffling through her bag to pull out her silver blade and two sopophorous beans. "Alright, cutting..." He showed her a difficult time of cutting the bean which released only a small amount of juice, before crushing the second one, releasing a great deal more juice.

"Amazing!" Hermione breathed in surprise, scrawling it into the margin of her potion's revision.

"And you came up with this all by yourself, did you?" Hope asked the third-year dubiously, canting an eyebrow at him.

"Potter, must you wound me so?" George asked her in a dramatic manner. "You know I never do anything alone! I've got the other half of my soul!" Fred, who must have been half-listening to their conversation from where he was sitting with Lee Jordan and what looked like the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, winked at her unamused stare. Hermione noticed her cheeks were rather pale and there were slight circles under her eyes, looking a bit worse than the day previously when she tried to steal her Quidditch Through the Ages back from Snape and only got yelled at in return.

"Hope," Hermione said gently. "Have you eaten anything?"

"I don't want anything," Hope said, shoving her potion's things back into her bag and standing.

"Just a bit of toast," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not hungry," Hope said, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "I'm going to go put my stuff away, could you tell Oliver that I'll be down soon."

"No problem," George agreed as the Quidditch mates waved her off. "Don't miss us too much!"

"I'll miss Angie the most!" Hope called over her shoulder mixed with laughter as Angelina mock-cheered.

Ron, however, seemed to be coming out of his morning coma and just noticed her absence about a minute after she had left. "Hey, where'd Hope go?"

George's lips curled into a smirk and Hermione shot him an exasperated look.

"We should probably head out," Fred mentioned after a few moments, and the Gryffindor Quidditch Members filed out of the Great Hall to be met by Hope leaning against the balcony. George wasn't the only one staring at her.

"How'd you get down and up so fast?" Fred asked astounded. "You're the slowest person I know!"

A self-satisfied smirk spread across her lips as she linked arms with Angelina who was amusing herself with the dumbfounded expressions on her friends' faces. "I'll wager I know at least one shortcut around the castle that you don't know about, Weasley."

Fred and George were just standing there completely astounded.

"That was hot," Fred said bluntly. Not that he liked her that way; his type was athletic girls with dreadlocks.

"Yeah," George agreed in a little bit of a shock, before they headed down to the pitch a good bit behind the others.

When they were all changed and waiting to head out, Oliver Wood began his speech.

"OK, men," he began.

"And women," Angelina interjected,

"And women," Oliver agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred.

"The one we've all been waiting for," George added.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred informed the green-eyed girl who giggled into her hand.

"Shut up, you two," Oliver said in a wane voice. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

The way he was glaring at them was enough to threaten bodily harm if they lost.

The next few minutes passed in a blur to her and then the match began. She had like the Potter for President sheet that was fluttering in the wind; she was going to have to thank Dean later for that; it was really a well-painted image of a lion, and Hermione's spell –it must have been- made it even better. The best part, she had to admit, though, was Lee's commentary. He never failed to make her laugh, much like his friends.

"Looks like Hope Potter doesn't have much to do but duck those nasty Bludgers! You lads be jealous-she winked at me this morning!" Laughter bubbled from her lips at that.

"JORDAN!" Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall didn't seem to appreciate it as much as Hope.

"Sorry, Professor," the dark-skinned boy apologized swiftly, not meaning it at all, "just telling it like it is!"

Hope rolled her eyes in midair, before swiftly dodging a well-placed Bludger, luckily Fred was around to wing it in the opposite direction, aiming the furiously rocketing ball in the direction of Marcus Flint, though Hope wasn't sure if it made contact with the Slytherin.

"Alright there, Hope?" he called over the wind.

Hope opened her mouth to say something when a Quaffle hit her hard in her chest. It wasn't hard enough to break bones, but enough that she noticeably had the wind knocked out of her.

"A cruel barrage of a Bludger and Quaffle nearly unseats the Gryffindor Seeker, but, wait, was that the Snitch?"

The Quaffle, though it had recently been thrown by Slytherin, was back in Slytherin's possession once more, only to be dropped at Lee's exclamation.

Hope's eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area, catching it in the corner of her eye. A beaming grin spread across her face as she directed her broom downwards, bumping her shoulders into Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs in an aggressive movement. She probably could've –and would've- done more if the keeper hadn't blocked her, sending her spinning off course, forcing her to lay flat against her broom. After it had stabilized, she noticed –to her annoyance- that the Snitch had disappeared once more.

"Figures," she grumbled under her breath, adding in a few choice swear words that would've had Petunia washing out her mouth with soap.

"So-after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!"

"I mean after that open and revolting foul-"

"Jordan, I'm warning you-"

"Alright, alright," Lee conceded. "Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone I'm sure –but don't be too surprised if he gets subjected to a public prank- so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play. Gryffindor still in possession-"

The next Bludger grazed the side of her head, burning over the side. Once it had passed, though, she pointed the broom to the west when it gave a frightening lurch, moving against her will. Her heart rate increased with terror –she was a hundred feet or so above the ground!- and her fingers went numb from how tightly she was holding the broomstick. Every time she tried to turn it in any direction, it bucked more dangerously than the last, then it started to roll, jerking to the side in a last ditch effort that finally unseated her, leaving her dangling from it with only her two hands. The terror was truly gripping her now as Fred and George flew close, trying to pull her onto their brooms, but the broom shot upwards every time they tried. The broom swung her to and fro when she tried to loop her leg over the side, forcing her back to where she was dangling precariously in midair.

Her fingers were slipping.

Hope pried her eyes open to see Higgs racing after the Snitch that was steadily making its way towards her. What luck. Please note the sarcasm.

"George?" Her voice was still shaking.

"Still here," the red-head said helpfully from where he was hovering, not completely below her, Fred having disappeared soon after to ward off some Bludgers from the Chasers.

"I'm going to do something incredibly stupid," she said shakily, "will you catch me?"

Green eyes locked with blue. In that instant, he said one word that made Hope want to kiss him right in front of the whole school, something she would later deny fervently.

"Always." Her breath caught and her heart stuttered briefly and she swallowed hard.

Hope gritted her teeth, swinging precariously on her broom, gaining enough momentum to drop down from her broom to his and into his arms. The raucous cheer that enveloped the stadium told her that she had succeeded. And then she choked.

"Hope?" George looked faintly alarmed as she hacked into her hand, until the alarm turned to shock once the tiny golden ball fell into her hand.

"A remarkable catch by Beater Weasley, and a remarkable catch of the Snitch by Seeker Potter! Gryffindor wins!"

"You are unbelievable," George informed her as he directed his broom down until she could jump lightly off it. "People'll be talking about that catch for years-"

He blinked in surprise when she leaned forward to kiss his cheek suddenly, her cheeks pink.

"Yours was far more impressive," she informed him with a light laugh, before the crowd of gold and red swarmed around her, the cheering deafening her as Hermione and Ron pulled her into a very welcome hug. Despite their happiness, Hope could see that Ron's face was a bit pale –his freckles were standing out in contrast with the pallor- and Hermione had nail marks indented in her cheeks from clutching them in fear.

She could see Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall in the distance, pulling her broom down from where it was still hovering a good hundred feet above the ground, but she didn't think too much of it as she was whisked away for a cup of tea with Hagrid.

Ron had to admit there was an obvious difference between the morning and now, since she had gone from pale and scared to bright-cheeked and beaming as she retold the tale to Hagrid from her point of view.

"Though," she added after she had finished her tale, "I wonder why my broom was acting like that...the only time I've had it out has been at practice and after that it was locked in my trunk..."

"That was Snape's fault," Ron explained to her befuddled look, gesturing to himself and Hermione, "we saw him. He was cursing your broom!"

"Rubbish," Hagrid refuted as Hope frowned thoughtfully, her eyes growing distant, "Why would he?"

"Dunno," Hope said slowly, glancing over at her friends, "but he did try to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween, so you have to wonder if he's plausibly_ sane_-"

Hagrid made a racket dropping the teapot, smashing the ceramic and tea into the carpet as Hermione smiled and Ron sniggered at Hope's choice of words. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?!" Three voices chorused with varying degrees of disbelief (Ron), shock (Hermione), and incredulity (Hope).

"Yeah, he's mine, from a Greek chappie," Hagrid said in a nonchalant manner. "I lent him to Dumbledore to guard-"

"Oh?" Hope asked, arching her eyebrows.

"That's top secret!" he growled at their eager faces.

"And if Snape steals it?" Hope prompted, her face placid as he glared.

"Rubbish! Snape's a Hogwarts teacher!"

"Then why was he spelling Hope's broom to toss her off; she could have died falling from that height!" Hermione cried.

"Whatever yer thinkin', it ain't that," Hagrid refuted with a scowl, "Snape wouldn't do anythin' teh Hope's broom, that was somethin' else. Forget about it, meddlin' in this stuff's dangerous. Forget about that dog and what it's guardin'! That's strictly between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-"

"Nicolas Flamel?"

The trio beat a rather hasty retreat after Hagrid revealed that little titbit, because it was hard to tell if he was angrier at them or himself.

* * *

Enigmatic, that was a term Albus Dumbledore would use to describe the daughter of Lily and James Potter. She was exceptionally minded, much like Lily in that aspect (and appearance-wise as well; the likeness was so uncanny, he could have sworn Lily Evans had de-aged herself). She excelled in Charms and Transfiguration, a perfect blend of her parents, though she lacked a bit in Potion. Despite that, she had a way to subtly insult people that usually ended with her serving several detentions with Severus for the witty tongue she had inherited from her mother. He watched her interact with the Weasley Twins and their younger brother, Ronald. He'd seen how the smile melted through her facade, how her eyes would light up and shift very much like young Nymphadora Tonks' would. George in particular paid close attention to her. It was much like watching James and Lily all over again, except that Hope did not despise George like Lily had James. Times like those brought a smile to his aged and worn face.

Dangerous would be another way he would describe her, for she reminded him of another student he had once had, though he had been in Slytherin, he had been as driven and as intelligently minded as she was, and that was worrisome.

* * *

**AN: Recently, one reviewer asked me if Voldemort was Hope's grandfather, so to all of you whom I have confused, I apologize profusely. The mention of 'grandfather' by the Sorting Hat is not in reference to Voldemort, but of Salazar Slytherin himself. I'm doing my story like this because I'm basing Hope's lineage off the Peverell Brothers. Voldemort and Hope are both descended from two of the three brothers, and Voldemort is descended from Slytherin, so I figured that all the brothers were as well. As such, Hope is the (great-something) granddaughter of Salazar Slytherin and the (distant) cousin of Voldemort (whether he knows –or cares- or not).**


	4. Explorations

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Four: Explorations**

* * *

"There's something very wrong with Binns," Hope decided one day, scrutinizing the many ghosts that haunted Hogwarts.

It was the nicest day they'd had in weeks, since the Quidditch Match (despite it being mid-December), which was why a great deal of the Hogwarts occupants were curiously absent. Including the Laughing Gas (which was the term Hope was now using affectionately in reference to the Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan; they approved), who were off playing a less competitive form of Quidditch. Hope was envious, but she had refused apologetically when they had asked her to join them, opting to remain in the Great Hall and wait patiently for Hermione and Ron to finish their homework. She was actually a bit astounded that Hermione of all people had fallen behind in school work, because even Hope, who had Quidditch practice three times a week, was ahead in her studies.

Currently, she was flipping through her muggle playing cards –the first thing she'd ever bought, if how worn and frayed they were was an indicator-, playing her fourth game of Patience. She wasn't very good at it, but her only opponent was herself and when she was younger, that had a lot of appeal. She flipped over the card on top of her "excess" deck; Three of Hearts. She moved it to the pile that ended with a Four of Spades. She had said those six words out of sheer boredom, but they were completely true.

"Yeah?" Ron grunted. His fingers were spattered with ink, smudging his essay a little. It was supposed to be on the uses of the levitation charm, but he was quickly running out of reasons (and Professor Flitwick had pulled him aside to say that he couldn't use knocking out a troll as one of them).

"All his lectures are portraying goblins as vicious creatures," Hope said in a voice that made it seem like Ron was agreeing with her, "which seems a bit biased, since I've never met a particularly vicious goblin?"

"Have you met a lot of goblins?" Hermione asked, glancing up from her Herbology paper to glance over at her friend. That thought made her lips twitch at the corners. Having friends was a new concept for her, but she liked it, and it was never boring when you were best mates with Hope Potter.

"Well, no," Hope admitted, realizing her whole argument was a bit flimsy, with rather large gaping holes in it, "but Ragnok and Griphook weren't like that when I met them. Granted, they weren't technically pleasant, but-"

Ron was staring at her like he had never done before (though, Hermione was sure she'd seen that same slack jawed expression on George's face one time or another). "You're on speaking terms with goblins?"

Hope shrugged her shoulders, placing a King of Diamonds onto the empty space between two piles. "It wouldn't do to piss off the ones in charge of my vaults." Her lips twitched. "I think they were the first ones who ever gave me a choice in anything." Her relatives, and she used that term loosely, has never given her any options, and even Hagrid, whom she liked well enough had carted her off without taking her opinion into account.

Hermione's eyes grew sad at that; she couldn't imagine not having a choice with anything. Even Ron looked a bit disconcerted.

Hope's attention had shifted from her friends to land on the ghost of Ravenclaw House, the Grey Lady. Her dark hair –it must have been- fell past her translucent waist, and she was clothed in a medieval sort of garb. Hope supposed she was beautiful, but she could hardly look at her straight since she kept turning invisible whenever she looked in the ghost's direction. Hope got the feeling the spirit wasn't really looking at her though. She frowned, hardly noticing when her hair coloured black, set in bouncy curls.

"How'd you do that?" Hermione demanded.

"Eh?" Hope was completely befuddled. "Oh, that? That's normal. I'm a metamorphmagus, my grand-mum's bloodline. It means I can change my appearance at will."

Hermione seemed to be a bit in awe as Hope's eyes shimmered violet. "That's amazing! Is it hereditary?"

"Pretty sure," Hope admitted, hissing slightly in pain as she banged her leg against the table. "Ah…"

Hermione and Ron had grown used to the brave face she put on when in pain. She never tried to draw attention to it, and that was what impressed Hermione the most about her.

"Why don't you just ask Madam Pomfrey to heal it completely?" she found herself asking, despite having vowed to never ask such a thing.

Thankfully, Hope's eyes were only filled with surprise as they flickered back to green, her hair returning to the short, calm waves that suited her. "She can't," she said, a bit bluntly, "magic can't heal all injuries, no matter what the Ministry may claim. The damage was…extensive." She sighed, looking much older than she was. "Even Madam Pomfrey can't work miracles."

She messed the cards with her hand, the distinct frown still lining her face. It was times like these that Hermione had actually see why she liked George so much; he was the brightness that banished the shadows that lay behind her eyes.

She brightened quickly, and this time it was half-genuine. "Hey, we should go exploring after this!"

Hermione was a bit stunned by how quickly she'd changed, it was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her head, but Ron, who'd known her the longest, wasn't quite so surprised.

"Exploring?" he repeated, glancing down. "Won't that irritate your leg?"

The soft-eyed smile she gave him in return startled him, but only slightly. One of the great things about Ron was that he didn't walk on eggshells around her concerning her leg. Most people were careful about what they said, but he was a bit blunt, reminding her of the way her cousin wrote. Fred and George took her mind off it, yes, but Ron accepted it. _My best mate has a serious injury, but its healing,_ seemed to be his mindset.

"I'll be fine; a little exercise could do me good."

"Ah, Miss Potter!"

Hope blinked as the short-statured Charms professor came up to their area of his bench, holding Hope's Nimbus Two-Thousand in his wrinkled hands.

"Professor?" she asked, her voice coloured with confusion; she hadn't seen the broom since the Quidditch game.

"We've checked it over a dozen times," he assured her as he handed it back to her, "but the most we could find was an Expulsion Charm, and it has been removed."

Hope couldn't come up with a response to that. She had been a bit apprehensive concerning her most recent possession.

"It's not going to throw me off again, is it?" she inquired slowly, scrutinizing the broom in such a way that the Ravenclaw Head was distantly reminded of her mother so many years ago, staring intently at a teacup that she was attempting to make tap dance.

"I am certain, Miss Potter," he assured her, smiling slightly as the lines on her face disappeared and she relaxed. Or had they? As Professor Flitwick walked away, he glanced back and saw the lines had returned. The worry on her face was almost palpable, but he had a feeling that come a few days she wouldn't have to worry much at all.

* * *

Contrary to Hope's belief, the Laughing Gas –as she had so aptly named them- was not playing an epic game of pick-up Quidditch (how could they play when the best seeker was stuck inside?). It was the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas break, so everyone –including the aforementioned students- was out finishing their Christmas shopping.

Coming up with a gift for Hope was turning out to be more of a trial than George had originally thought. Of course, he, Fred, and their friends had clubbed together to get her some reasonably mild Zonkos products, but he wanted to get something else...something that meant a bit more.

The only problem was, he didn't know what to get her. She liked to cook, he knew that, but Hermione was getting her something that involved that. She was smart, so he could get her a nice book, but that would be more like something he would get Percy (gag). They were passing by Tomes and Scrolls when he caught sight of it. T&S always set out free books that didn't sell well outside on the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas, and they didn't disappoint.

The book in particular that had caught his interest was the Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was a collection of children's stories that their mum always used to tell them when they were little, but Hope had grown up muggle, and she certainly hadn't heard any children stories. He lifted it from the pile. It was still good as new, he noticed. He thumbed through the pages, noting that the art was a bit better than the one his mum had, so he pocketed it.

If Fred noticed, he didn't mention it, because, either way, George still had to come up with a really nice Christmas gift.

"Oy, Angie!" Fred called over to Angelina where she was talking to Alicia, having just exited the local jewellery store, holding a small bag. He tried not to notice that his heart began to race when she lifted her head and smiled brilliantly.

"Yeah?"

"Got some advice for George?" Fred queried, his lips still upturned, gesturing with his shoulder towards the boy who was doing a mental analysis of his friend-whom-he-liked-a-great-deal and what she could possibly want as a gift.

Angelina grinned, an oddly feral grin not unlike Hope's, now that he thought about it. "Oh, I've got the best thing…"

Taking both twins by the arm, she dragged them inside the nearest shop, directing George's attention to the object in the corner.

It was perfect.

* * *

Hermione found herself pulling apart the curtains that hid Hope's bed from view the very next day, paling at once at the sight within. Hope, who had been complaining only of mild tingling in her leg the day previously, now looked worse for wear. Her skin was nearly a sickly sheen of grey and shimmered from sweat and her forehead was scrunched up in pain.

"Hope? Hope!"

She shook the girl hopelessly (pun not intended), before all but fleeing to find Madam Pomfrey.

Unfortunately, Hope was awake and grumbling by the time the Matron arrived, being in a very bad mood.

"Argh...I hate stomach flu!"

Hope certainly didn't look as though she was enjoying her time being sick, but then, no one ever seemed to. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt quite so bad if her leg hadn't been acting up as well, but her friends thought it best not to comment; who knew how she would react?

Hope's arms were currently tightly wrapped around her middle, as if that would assuage the pain, but no such luck. Her face was pinched and pale, but not nearly as pale as the day before. And she looked less miserable, so that was something.

"Moving will only make it worse," the Matron warned from her office, "I'm afraid you will just have to wait for it to pass."

Hope muffled her frustration in her pillow. "And how long is that supposed to take?"

"It should be only a few minutes," Madam Pomfrey assured her, "but the effects might last for hours; you may feel a bit drained."

"Fantastic," she grumbled.

Hermione was still noticeably concerned for her friend, hovering close to her side. "Are you sure it's just flu?"

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit sad as she watched Hope stubbornly turn her head away, a frown set firmly on her face.

"It's not just the flu," she admitted, gazing intently at her patient who was doing a spot-on impression of James Potter that it was almost scary, almost, but not quite. "It's her leg as well."

Hermione looked closer and saw that the scar horizontally across her leg was angry and puckered, looking very infected.

"She's overstrained the muscles somehow," Madam Pomfrey explained.

"I am right here, you know," Hope said sourly, crossing her arms, looking extremely petulant.

"Hush!" The Matron admonished the girl as if she was an impertinent child interrupting an important conversation.

Hope's scowl deepened, but the healer wasn't perturbed. Hermione guessed that she had gotten so used to her attitude from having Hope as a patient for so long.

"The muscles need time to recover, so you'll have to be off your feet for awhile." This time, her words were directed towards the red-head who was still sulking. "This time, try to actually follow my instructions." The despairing voice she used was enough to earn a quirk of the lips from Hope, but nothing else.

"Keep an eye on her," Madam Pomfrey warned the brunette as she left, "you know how she is about following rules."

"Sadly," Hermione agreed with a sigh.

By some miracle, Hope had managed to get through a shower and pull on her clothes without using her leg, though, with her luck, she was beginning to suspect that she would over-strain the muscles in her good leg. And that would not do.

"I can't stand sitting still," she said in an aggrieved tone. "This sucks!"

The other Gryffindors who happened to be in the common room as she said this smirked and snickered.

"Maybe if you hadn't insisted that we go exploring, we wouldn't be in this mess," Hermione admonished from where she and Ron stood beside the armchair.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Hope grumbled, hardly under her breath.

"You're impossible," Ron said, almost in awe.

"I do try," she drawled in response, waving them off. They were going to the library to try to look up some information on Nicolas Flamel. "Have fun."

Ron rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "See you in a few."

They shared a smile at her huff of annoyance, leaving her to her devices.

Hope pulled an aged book from her bag, which had been conveniently left where it was the previous night. _Blood Magick and its Origins_, that was what it was called. It was a pity that Britons were so narrow minded when it came to truly extraordinary branches of magic. They quickly outlawed any magic that they couldn't and wouldn't understand, and Blood Magick was one such thing.

Sometimes Hope didn't understand wizards at all.

_Blood Magick is one of the two most ancient forms of magic known to wizard-kind. It came into favour in the early Dark Ages and has been used in several well-known branches of magic, such as: Wicca, Alchemy, Astrology, Necromancy, Sigil Magick, and Hoodoo. Blood magick is the magic that resides in one's blood, impregnated with the blood on a cellular level. The most common way to activate the magic within the blood is through what is commonly known as Blood Warding which was highly popular amongst the Pharaohs of Egypt. The frequent use of it deterred grave robbers so much that legends spread that the tombs were cursed-_

"All by your lonesome?"

Hope lifted her head to gaze at the Weasley Twins.

"Peace and quiet is very nice once in awhile," she said with a slight smile, splaying her hand over the page so the curious third-years wouldn't know that she was reading about a subject that had been banned from the country. She highly doubted that they would recognize its contents but there was still an off chance that they could. "Not that you would know," she added dryly.

"Silence is so boring, though!" Fred complained.

"Noise is a much better alternative," George agreed in the same light sort of voice.

She smiled.

* * *

"You two."

Ron and Hermione turned back suddenly, remarkably tense, to face the owner of the commanding voice. It was a young boy, maybe fifteen with tousled black hair falling into his pale eyes. He wore a black robe but no house symbol or a distinguishing tie to allude to his house.

He was holding out a rather thick tome. "Give this to Elpis, would you?"

"Elpis?" Ron asked blankly. "We don't know an Elpis."

But Hermione frowned. "Isn't Elpis the name of the Goddess of Hope in Greek myths?"

The boy's smile was condescending. "Aren't you a clever girl?" he mocked, smirking as her cheeks coloured. "I suppose Muggle-borns have gotten smarter since my day."

That was both a compliment and an insult. Hermione struggled to settle her face into a stoic mask like Hope did, but she was sure her eyes had flashed in irritation as he had dropped the weighty tome into her hands. She read the title curiously. "_Ancient Magical Languages_?"

"Elpis has a distinct fondness for ancient history. She is rather fascinated with Egypt and Greece, I gather, from her frequent trips to this library," he gestured to the one they had just exited after their rather fruitless search, "and the one in Surrey."

Ron stared at him oddly. "How do you know that?" Even he didn't know about that!

"That is hardly the matter," he said with scorn, bearing a superior smile as he gazed down on them. "Tell Elpis it is a gift."

In the time it took them to blink, he had vanished, and they were befuddled, but they hurried back to the common room all the same, finding themselves unsurprised that Hope was being entertained by Ron's elder brothers.

She looked better than when they'd left, for now the pallor that had adorned her face had faded, leaving her with the light rosy hue that she had always had. She did look a bit tired, but that was normal, as Madam Pomfrey had said.

"How on earth did you manage to set off those Dungbombs while being surrounded by witnesses?" Hope was saying, tossing her friends a smile and a nod as they approached. "I didn't know there was such a thing as a spell that could delay the explosion time!"

They bore self-satisfied smirks.

"Ask us no questions-"

"And we'll tell you no lies."

She snorted, glancing over Ron and Hermione. "Find anything useful?" she queried, frowning at the thick tome in their hands.

"Not re-"

Hope was goggling at the title. "Where the ruddy hell did you find that?!"

She practically ripped the weighty book from Hermione's arms, gazing at it in awe.

"A boy said you'd like it, he said it was a gift for Elpis, you know, the Godde-" Hermione started to say.

"The Goddess of Hope, yes, I know." Hermione was surprised by how detached her voice had grown, but she was well aware of Elpis' tale, and had no desire to hear it again; it was the first Greek myth that she had ever read about.

Hope's eyes scrutinized the worn cover. "This has been touched by a spectre," she mused aloud, but more to herself.

"A ghost?" Fred asked in confusion, sharing a glance with his twin who was equally bemused.

"Not quite." Hope was squinting at the surface of the book, holding it up to her face so she could look across it. "Spectres can maintain a solid form for a short amount of time, but they rarely stick around for centuries after their death like ghosts do; Spectres aren't afraid of death." She bit her lip looking thoughtful. "I wonder who it was…?"

She was speaking more to herself as she inspected the locked keyhole ("why would there be a keyhole on a book?" "If you don't know how am I supposed to?"). Hermione and Ron were surprised to note that it opened without an ounce of resistance, but they didn't see the small prick of blood collecting on Hope's thumb. Hope opened it slowly, flipping gingerly through the pages in complete awe.

There were so many symbols, so many runes…it must be Christmas.

"I think you killed her," George mentioned dryly as he waved a hand to and fro in front of her face, but she never let on that she could see it.

"This is…perfect," she said disjointedly in complete shock.

Three of the four watching her allowed themselves to be faintly amused by the jealous frown that had settled onto George's face.

* * *

Hope tried to smother her giggles the next day as she watched Fred and George carefully enchant a series of snowballs while standing behind a tree so that they would bounce against Professor Quirrel's turban as he walked past. Christmas break would start tomorrow and the Christmas spirit was heavy in the air. A large portion of the school was feverishly packing up their things for the break, but obviously the ones that weren't were staying behind.

Hope wasn't too choked up (in fact she wasn't choked up at all), not even after Malfoy's jibe about her not being wanted at home. Sadly, it was true, and if there was any chance that she could actually have fun on a holiday, she would take it.

"Hey."

George sounded out of breath as he sat down on the stone bench beside her, barely glancing at her broom which lay forgotten beside her. He grinned; she had probably come down to fly but had gotten distracted by their enchanted snowballs.

"Hey." Her lips twisted into a smile, bringing attention to her light blue eyes and now strawberry-blonde hair. "Having fun?"

"Always," he chortled.

It lifted his spirits when she laughed with him. Her heavily gloved hand dropped to squeeze his.

"So…flying?"

Her eyes pooled with anxiety, surprising George. She liked to fly quite a bit, though, now that he thought about it, she should be nervous about being on the broomstick that tried to send her off it if not for George's interference.

"Do you think I'm being stupid?" she asked him suddenly, her eyes imploring. "Being scared of a big, bad broomstick." Hope gave a shaky laugh.

"Not at all," George refuted. "I'd probably be scared if it had been me."

"Really?" She sounded surprised, but then Fred and George had never seemed like the sort of people that would or could be scared of something as trivial (possibly) as being tossed from a broom.

"Really," he said, sounding oddly serious. "I'll go up with you, if you want."

She seemed to be caught between two decisions, biting the inside of her cheek as she did so. Finally, she sighed and nodded as George pulled her into a standing position, settling himself over her broom and gesturing for her to do the same. Unlike him, her movements were not eager, more like they were resigned, but she replicated his moves and linked her arms around his stomach; George could feel how tense she was.

"But, if you kill me," she said in a surprisingly calm voice, "know that I will haunt you until the day you die."

George laughed, disregarding the comment, since he was rather used to the death threats she typically threw his way. They were generally coupled with a smile. "Dully noted."

Slowly, very slowly, he pushed off from the ground, pointing the broom upwards in a gentle manner, but he could feel Hope's arms digging painfully into his sides, even so.

"It's alright," he hummed in a contented voice that he usually adopted when speaking with Ginny after she woke up from a nightmare. "Look down."

Hope did as he requested and laughed aloud; they were barely a foot above the ground. He spun the shaft in a lazy figure eight. "Want to go higher?"

"Alright."

Trust was something she had always had an extraordinary amount of difficulty with, but here with George, with him being the only thing that kept her from falling downwards, she didn't find it so hard. She smiled into his back as the nervousness and the anxiety melted from her body, fading into the snow and frost that caked the castle like the icing on a gingerbread house.

"George?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

"Don't let me fall."

He chuckled ahead of her, one hand squeezing hers where they were still locked around him. "Never."

**AN: I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter, but I'm sure the next one will make up for it, if you all think it wasn't quite impressive as the last. Thanks to all of you who reviewed!**


	5. Winter Surprises

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Five: Winter Surprises**

* * *

The cold had long since numbed Hope's toes where they were bared to the harsh winter wind as she gazed upwards at the stars. They were brighter tonight than they had been previously, or, at least that was how they seemed. She was a little chilled (really, what had she been thinking going up onto the Astronomy Tower in nothing but her bed clothes and bathrobe?), but that was to be expected. She doubted she'd been up there very long, but when one's feet begin to feel like icicles, the time would seem much longer. Finally, she sighed and shifted her gaze from the Pleiades, stumbling back inside, where it was only slightly warmer.

Hope kept to the shadows, wary of any prefect or professor out on patrol, when something startled her.

"You must be cold."

Hope tried very hard not to jump at the soft voice, far more startled that the Grey Lady had appeared before after looking so pained. Hope glanced down at her bare pale feet, almost having forget they were there since she had lost feeling in them (she was sure that wasn't a good thing).

"It's not so bad," she assured her, though it was a lie (but not an obvious one; Hope was a good liar), her eyes still confused. "I thought you hated me."

The Ravenclaw ghost's smile lacked feeling. "My apologies. You simply reminded me a bit of myself."

Hope's mouth dropped open; whatever the reason could have been, that wasn't one she would have anticipated.

"I...I did?" She asked bleakly. Sometimes that was good, but sometimes that was bad; Hope was sure that this was the bad.

"Intelligent and seeking a way to prove oneself," the Grey Lady said with a voice filled with scorn, making Hope automatically flinch. "I have been watching you most closely, Hope Potter."

"You're being rather rude," Hope said equally coldly, her eyes turning a frigid grey. "You're more than Ravenclaw's ghost…you're Rowena's blood, aren't you?"

Now it was time for the ghost to flinch, but that only gave Hope a small amount of pleasure. She liked to put people down when they insulted her, but someone like the Grey Lady seemed more sad and angry than anything else. It would be cruel to insult a dead woman.

"Only Rowena didn't have any siblings, just a daughter, a daughter who vanished from all record." Hope wasn't trying to be mean, only direct. "With all due respect, I'm not like you. I'm not as smart as you and I'm not as vain." Vain was just a guess, but Helena Ravenclaw did seem to be a bit in her opinion.

The Grey Lady seemed caught between the compliment and the insult, but then she smiled, but it was rueful, filled with so many different emotions that Hope quickly lost track. "You remind me of your grandfather; he often spoke of blunt truths when he was riled up."

"My grandfather?" Hope asked in confusion, her irritation dropping from her face. "What do you mean?"

"Aisle Four, First Row, A History of the Founders," she said as an answer, "I'm sure you'll find it most...enlightening." And without a single utterance, Helena Ravenclaw faded into a wisp of wind, breezing past her and towards the Ravenclaw common room.

Hope frowned in thought, but she did as she asked. Getting into the library was no easy feat, mind you, especially with her leg the way it was. She almost ran into Percy Weasley trying to avoid Professor Burbage (she was the professor for Muggle Studies, a class Hope swore she'd never take; it was pointless by how she was raised). With some luck she managed to slip past the library's doors with a barest squeak of hinges, but finding the book was more difficult than she had anticipated, since the binding was rather worn (she passed by it three times without noticing).

When she found it, she was sure she stopped breathing for a few seconds, and she had gone stock still as she gazed at the youthful face of Salazar Slytherin. He was just as Hermione had described; dark tousled hair, pale eyes, sharp features, and a cocky smile. She was far more surprised that he easily stood beside Godric Gryffindor, someone whom he had apparently hated –if the current rivalries were anything to go by-, smiling secretively, as if they knew something that no one else did.

"_Your grandfather may not approve..._" that was what the hat had said, and now she understood why. It must be quite scandalous for the descendant of Slytherin to be sorted into Gryffindor. Slytherin had a bad reputation, and she doubted she would earn any favours by being of his blood. Remaining silent of her relation to him would probably be a good idea for now; she wasn't quite sure how any of her friends would respond.

She shut the book with a snap and shoved it back into shelf, but when she glanced at her hands, she saw that she was still shaking.

* * *

The early afternoon wind was still quite cold, almost a scorching cold, but the students making for the Hogwarts Express still battled against the fierce wind.

Hope had accompanied some of her friends with her broom locked under her arm as she ignored the jeers of the Slytherins, but she caught Daphne Greengrass giving her a slight nod, and she gave one in return. Their relationship was…odd, to say the least. They weren't really friends, but they weren't really enemies, either. Acquaintances, perhaps? Yes, that was a good term to use.

Hope was pulled from her internal musing when Hermione hugged her tightly around the middle as Lee Jordan pushed her trunk into the train, securing it with his and Alicia and Angelina's, who would be riding back with her (Hermione confided to Hope that she was grateful for the company). "You have a good holiday, Hope, and Merry Christmas!"

Hope grinned, squeezing her affectionately as well. "You too." She was sure she was the only one who came out to say goodbye –no one else had wanted to brave the cold (though she was sure she could have used her puppy-dog eyes on George and he would have bent like wet paper)-, but she didn't mind, even if the wind tangled her hair with snowflakes and pinked her cheeks with cold.

Angelina, Lee, and Alicia each gave her respective hugs, wishing her a Happy Christmas as well as they boarded the train.

Lee, in particular, ducked his torso out of the window and winked conspiratorially. "Don't have too much fun without me, Potter!"

Hope couldn't silence the laughter that bubbled from her lips, leaking through her fingers. "I'll try, but no promises!" She blew him a jaunty kiss that made the girls laugh as they ('they' referring to Angelina and Alicia, since Hermione wasn't that forward) pulled him back into the compartment.

The train was starting to move and she hobbled alongside it, studiously ignoring the flare of pain at her shin and she waved after them, before stopping and just simply raising her hand in farewell. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but it was only when the train had completely disappeared, the red vanishing in the white, that she mounted her broom and hightailed for Hogwarts. She only touched ground again once she'd reached the Great Hall (yes, she flew inside Hogwarts, don't everyone get surprised at once), loping gracelessly over to the Gryffindor table to sit opposite Ron.

"I'm starving!" she bemoaned, resting her broom beside her. "I can't believe I slept through breakfast!" As she said this, she began to pile steak and kidney pie onto her plate while spooning some split pea soup into a spare bowl.

"I can't imagine what that's like," said Ron who had never missed a meal in his life.

Hope rolled her eyes, slurping the soup in an unlady-like manner. "Just because you eat all your meals doesn't mean everyone does."

He snorted at that. Hope had a bad habit of getting so caught up in her reading that there would be some days where she skipped a meal, like last night. She had been so engrossed in her new book that Angelina had to coerce the twins into taking her to the kitchen to grab the girl some grub. Of course, they had had to add a preservation charm to make sure it was warm when she ate it, since she hadn't noticed it sitting beside her the first hour after its arrival.

"How late were you reading that book anyways?" he asked as she started in on her steak and kidney pie.

"Past midnight, I'm sure," Hope said, well aware of the soft grey shadows beneath her eyes, "I just couldn't put it down. There were Norse figures that I've never read before! It was so fascinating!"

"I'll take your word for it," Ron said dryly. "You really like this stuff?"

"A bit," she admitted with a flushed grin. "I probably wouldn't want to make a career out of it, but at the rate I'm going at, they'll have to name me Official Knowledge-keeper of Magic."

Ron burst out into laughter at the ridiculous title she had apparently come up with on the spot.

Hope stuck out her tongue, but she was grinning all the same, content to not even spare a thought to the lack of Christmas gifts she was sure would not be in her room the next day.

And so Hope awoke the morning of Christmas Day not particularly anticipating any presents, so she went about her business as usual, gathering her clothes and entering the showers, not giving much around her a glance until after she had left the loo. She raked a hand through her dampened hair, noticing that it had grown a little longer in the passing months. She fingered the ends of the strands in speculation; perhaps she would grow it out longer. She walked past the bed to dump her dirty clothes in the hamper by her bed, only to backtrack once she caught sight of the pile of packages at the edge of her bed.

Her mouth dropped open. She hadn't been expecting anything really, but her face couldn't help but light up with childish wonder.

The first parcel was from Hagrid. It was a roughly whittled flute and Hope couldn't resist playing a few notes, her fingers dancing across the holes, the air escaping it sounded distinctly like an owl, reminding Hope of Hedwig. The second was a rather lumpy parcel that confused Hope until she opened it and found a box of homemade fudge and a thick jumper made of emerald green. The note said it was from Ron and the Twins' mother, Molly Weasley. Hope couldn't help but wonder if her own mother would have done the same if she had still been alive.

Then Hope scrubbed furiously at her eyes, wiping the remnants of tears from her green eyes, resolutely focusing on what a nice gift it was and pulling it over her head.

The next two gifts were sweets from Ron and Hermione, with Hermione adding to hers a small booklet, a cookbook, with a book filled with recipes that she could cut out and add to the blank cookbook. It was a lovely gift, Hope had to admit as she thumbed through the pages of the recipe book, she'd never had her own cookbook before.

The Laughing Gas (and co.) had gotten her a box filled with more prank items than she could ever hope to use –at least, that's what she thought-, just glancing over, she recognized a few Dungbombs and Chinese Fortune Sticks. She couldn't help but smile as she set it aside and pulled one last package towards her.

The first item in the bag was a small book, proclaiming _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Was it children's stories? She placed it with her other gifts, removing the last one.

_Convinced Angie to steal a couple of your pictures, hope you like it and don't mind._

_-George_

She blinked; glancing to where her camera that she used a bit sparingly laid by her bedside, next to the box that contained all the pictures she'd taken at Hogwarts. So that was why she thought she'd been missing some photos…

She pulled the wrapping to reveal a leather bound scrapbook with 'Year One' embellished at the centre. Her smile brightened as she flipped through the pages; her camera was one of the most used items in Gryffindor House, so she wasn't surprised that there were pictures there that she didn't recall taking. There was a lot of her with Ron and Hermione…and there was a surprising amount of her being manhandled by either of the twins (her arched eyebrow twitched a bit at that), but in almost every one of them she was smiling, much like she was now.

This gift was perfection. It was a hundred times better than the book on magical languages, if she said so herself. Hope traced a thin finger over the images painted across the cover with a soft smile.

Only one parcel remained now.

She removed the slip of parchment from the brown wrappings.

_Your father left this is my possession before he died._

_It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

The ring set with the black stone warmed in her hand as she lifted the garment from its packaging. It was silvery-grey, feeling and looking almost like fluid, gleaming in the sunlight that pooled through the window. It was gorgeous. Hope pulled the cloak over her shoulders only to look down at herself, stunned. Where was her body?

A cloak of invisibility…was there such a thing? She marvelled silently at the gift, picking up the slip of parchment as if trying to will the writer's signature to the surface, but it was hopeless. And she was clueless.

"Ron! Ron!"

Ron, who had been unwrapping his own presents was surprised when a flurry of dark red assaulted his face. "Hope?"

Hope's eyes weren't quite as haunted as they had been yesterday; they were bright and filled with life as she shook something at Ron. "Ron, look at this!"

It was a cloak, and once she threw it over her shoulders, Ron's jaw dropped. Her body had completely disappeared!

"No way! If that's what I think it is, they're really rare and really valuable!" Ron said in astonishment, walking in a circle around Hope's disembodied head. "It's an invisibility cloak! How'd you get it?"

"The note said it belonged to my father," Hope explained as she pulled it off and folded it in her arms. "Did you open my present?"

As a matter of fact, he hadn't, but he wasted no time in ripping the wrapping paper form the square-like item.

"Wow! Hope, this is cool!"

It was a brand new chessboard.

Hope smiled. "I saw it when we were in Diagon Alley the first time around. I remembered you saying something about your old chessboard and thought you could use a new one."

He hefted it in his hand. It wasn't very light, but it wasn't very heavy either, so it couldn't have cost as much as he would have thought.

"Thanks!"

"No problem." She grinned devilishly. "I got the twins a prank book."

"Of course," Ron sniggered at the precise moment Fred and George bounded inside.

"Merry Christmas!" Fred chirped.

"Oh, look!" George noticed with a grin that had Hope blushing. "Hope's got a Weasley jumper, too!"

Fred and George were wearing ones much like the emerald green one she had pulled over her torso…though, if she was correct, they were wearing each other's. Her lips twitched in amusement.

"Hope's is better than ours, though," Fred added, a mock-thoughtful expression on his face as he rested his chin in his hand. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family, or are a girl."

Hope tossed him a filthy glance, speaking with a dry voice, "Gee, Fred, thanks."

He tipped an invisible hat to her, earning (yet another) eye roll. Seriously, he could make a lot of money by betting how many she went through daily.

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George was demanding of his youngest brother, diverting all attention to the first-year Weasley, giving Hope the opportunity to hide the cloak under her jumper; she wasn't sure if she wanted to share it with anyone else yet. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm!"

Ron only looked half-annoyed as he pulled his over his head. "I hate maroon," he groaned.

"Ah, no letter," George observed. "I guess she thinks you won't forget your name, but we're not stupid; we know our names are Gred and Forge."

At that point, Hope lost it completely, clutching her stomach as she roared with laughter, so much laughter that she had tears falling from her eyes. George seemed very pleased by that as Fred elbowed him.

"What's all this noise?" a demanding voice came from the doorway. Percy Weasley didn't anticipate all the noise to be coming from Hope Potter who seemed to be at her wits end, hanging off of Ron's arm in an attempt to stay vertical. Before he could say anything further, Fred –it was Fred wasn't it? (he was assuming that the twin closest to Hope was George)- snatched the lumpy jumper from his hands.

Hope seemed to be recovering slowly as Ron thumped her back as if she had been choking on something. Fred took advantage of that distraction.

"P for Prefect!" Fred chortled, seeming strangely hyper. "Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Hope got one!"

Hope was indeed wearing a lovely dark green jumper over her shirt.

"I-don't-want-" Percy started to say, looking immensely annoyed as he did so, but it was too late. Grinning identically, Fred and George had pulled the thick sweater over his ginger head, messing up his hair and knocking his glasses to the side slightly.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today," George added with a crazy grin, "Christmas is a time for family!"

Hope had to stifle another bout of giggles as they marched out of the dormitory with Percy sandwiched between them, his arms locked at his sides by the jumper.

"Is it sad that I'm getting used to their antics?" Hope asked Ron after they had left.

Ron groaned. "Very."

He swore he could hear her smirking, if that was even possible.

* * *

The wind whipped around Hope's head as she flew, yelping at the flash of crimson that chased her through the skies.

"Got you!"

She pouted when she saw that Ron's hand was tugging on her boot.

"You're it!"

A loud yell pierced her from the left where she could see two more patches of red; her grin turned oddly feral. She pointed her broom in their direction, shooting past Ron so fast, she was sure that he had yelled out as well. Their game of pick-up Quidditch had quickly devolved –seeing as there were only four of them- since they didn't have any access to the Quidditch balls, and they had ended up playing a game of "Tag" which the Weasley brothers hadn't really understood at first until Hope had explained it several times.

She did a few lazy loops to give them a head start, seeing as she had the fastest broom, before speeding towards the closest one –she couldn't really be sure which twin it was in this snowstorm-, reaching out a hand when the edge of the shaft hit into one of the stone structures in the courtyard. The movement dislodged the girl who let out a small scream as she was tossed into the side of one of the many stone arches.

She lay in a crumpled heap where she had been thrown, more stunned than in pain when three pairs of feet dropped down beside her.

"Hope?"

She groaned in response. "Ow."

"I'm starting to wonder if there is something wrong with your broom," Ron added as he helped her up, noticing her wince. "Did you hit your back?"

"Just a little-"

"So a lot?" Fred and George said at the same time.

"Hospital Wing it is."

Hope groaned again, pressing a hand to her chilled face. "And I was having so much fun," she muttered mutinously as Fred linked her arms around his neck and George went off to find her broom.

Her mood went down the toilet as they hauled her up to the medical wing of the school, but Madam Pomfrey wasn't too surprised by her most frequent patient's appearance.

"Back again, Hope?" she sounded almost resigned as Fred deposited her onto one of the beds. "What is it this time?" she asked in a benign voice.

"This time it's not my fault!" Hope said suddenly.

Madam Pomfrey arched an eyebrow and Hope relented in a small voice, making the Weasley boys snigger, "Well…maybe a little."

"And where…"

"My back."

Hope's face settled into a sullen frown as Madam Pomfrey rolled back her shirt so she could see the injury. The skin betrayed no sight of damage, but then it typically took about a half hour for bruises to fester, so Madam Pomfrey wasn't surprised by the lack of evidence. She tapped her wand against the skin, blinking in surprise.

"What did you do? Run into a wall?"

Hope scratched her cheek, chuckling sheepishly. "Err…sort of…"

Madam Pomfrey made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat as she murmured a spell and unrolled her shirt where she had pulled it back.

"Its going to be a little stiff, but try to be more careful next time," she warned as Ron helped pull Hope into a standing position.

"I'm always careful, Poppy," she said with a wide grin, ignoring the eye twitch at her use of the Matron's first name, "you know me, always walking on eggshells."

Madam Pomfrey, it seemed, wasn't the only one that found that idea to be ludicrous, if the assortment of snorts and laughs were anything to go off of.

Hope just huffed in annoyance, her cheeks stained a pink that hadn't come from the cold. She was immeasurably relieved that the colour had faded by the time they had returned to the ground level, heading for the Great Hall.

Astonishment was the first emotion she felt when they sat down, because the sheer amount of food was completely insane. There was so much turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, buttered peas and much more.

"Are Christmas dinners always like this?" she asked in awe as they settled into the open seats by Percy –who had stuck to his promise and was not sitting with the prefects.

"Typically, yeah, great, aren't they?" Fred said with a grin, holding out a cracker for her to pull apart with him.

Bemused, she gripped the opposite end and pulled, giving a yelp of surprise when it exploded and hid them in a blue cloud. The shocked expression was still on her face when it had cleared, revealing an admiral's hat…and some very alive white mice. Hope stared after the rodents as they scampered away, completely dumbfounded.

Ron had already dug into his food, but Hope was still in a bit of astonishment when something soft brushed against her cheek. She turned and smiled, grabbing the end of George's cracker, but jumping again when the loud noise erupted from it, this time covering them in a cloud of bright red. The gift in the centre was a band new chess set –much like the board that Hope had gotten for Ron. She grinned, setting it with the hat and finally tucking into her food.

Of course, everything was delicious, and even that was an understatement. Somehow, the food was even better than it generally was, but that was probably because it was Christmas. She laughed with them all as she carried her pile a new gifts (which now included a grow-your-own-warts kit and a few packs of non-explodable, luminous balloons) up to the common room.

"Ready for a snowball fight?" George grinned as she returned from the stairs to her dormitory, carrying her thick hat and gloves in one hand, the other using the railing for assistance on the way down.

"Oh, absolutely," she laughed. "Get ready to brained by my awesomeness!"

She ran off before he could respond to that, leaving him blinking in surprise, musing aloud. "How can she be so fast with that limp?"

**AN: Sorry for the wait, but I've got a website and a paper due in English class by Friday, so it's been a little hectic (and I'm still not done…****). It might be a little while before the next update since finals are next week and I'll probably be posting my first chapter of Sting of the Blade before the sixth installment of Looking Beyond (if you're all lucky, I might update before, but I'm not sure at this point). On a positive note, thank you all for your support and reviews! I especially loved the reviews: *wink, wink***


	6. What the Heart Desires

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and Excerpts from the Hobbit belong to J.R.R. Tolkien**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Six: What the Heart Desires**

**AN: I had a particularly difficult time with this chapter, mostly because I kept wanting to add aspects that wouldn't make sense in context. I probably rewrote it about two or three times before I left it like it is. Concerning what Hope sees in the mirror, I tried not to change too much about it, because I wanted to show Hope's innocence. Girls think a bit more ahead, I think, than boys, so I had her imagining if she had a child. I hope it works. The part at the end I originally had written out of the chapter, but I needed a bit of space to add, so I brought it back. I hope it wasn't too fluffy.**

* * *

The snow was falling heavily and deep around the Granger's house, making it look remarkably like a gingerbread house that had been recently iced. All the houses on the street looked like that, though, so Hermione couldn't really complain as she unwrapped all of her presents giving the appropriate amount of joy for each gift. Hers were mostly book-related, true to her love of the written word. Once she had finished unwrapping all the packages, she pulled out a small pile of photos that Hope had given her to show to her parents.

"This is me, Hope, and Ron," Hermione was telling her parents, showing them a few pictures of her friends at Hogwarts. They were still in a bit of awe that the images could move.

"Hope, Ron, and I," her mother corrected automatically with a kindly smile as she took the pictures from her daughter. Her daughter's friends (oh, how she would never tire of using that word!) were both red-haired, but the girl's was far darker than the boy's. The girl was the one she automatically drew attention to, as she was the female of her daughter's friends. Her smile was tired, but happy all the same, leaning heavily on a cane with one leg set in a brace as her other arm looped over Hermione's shoulders. She had a fragile sort of appearance that many girls desired at her age (and thereafter), one that drew eyes, like the next picture.

"Who's this young man?" she asked, watching in fascination as a slightly older boy bent down to toss the red-haired girl over his shoulder despite her protests and embarrassment. He looked a little like the boy Hermione was friends with.

"Oh, that's probably George, Ron's older brother," Hermione supplied with an amused grin, "he's fascinated by Hope."

A crush, then, it was sweet, Mrs. Granger had to admit, smiling reflexively at Hope's wide one.

"He's a bit of a troublemaker," she added as an afterthought, "but then so is Hope. She doesn't like authority much."

Her father arched a brown eyebrow, glancing at the pictures his wife handed him. "Wouldn't have figured that you would befriend troublemakers," he said slowly, ignoring the look his wife shot towards him.

Hermione shrugged, a fond smile melting onto her lips. "Hope only causes trouble when she feels it's necessary, like with our potion's professor, he hates her. He picks on her every day and she just insults him to his face."

Both parents look startled at that, but Hermione only grinned, one hand still playing lazily over the cover of the book Hope had gotten her, The Magick of Wicca. The note enclosed had said:

_I saw this and thought of you, her letter had said. Happy Holidays!_

"I got her a cookbook, but only because she said she has trouble keeping recipes straight in her head," Hermione admitted, "what she really likes is discovering things, old and new."

Her father reached over to ruffle her bushy hair that was so like his. "She sounds lovely, they both do."

Hermione just grinned, knowing that they didn't really understand a bit about her life at Hogwarts but supporting her nonetheless.

* * *

"Take this!"

Fred yelled as a ball of icy-cold snow hit him in the face, knocking him back to the snow-covered ground.

Hope's laughter echoed on all sides before silencing rather suddenly as she pitched forward slightly by a blow to the back of the head.

"Ronald!" she yelled after the boy that had begun to race away soon after the ball had made contact with her face. The youngest Weasley boy ran as Hope hobbled after him packing snow into a compact ball. Fred was more impressed by how fast she was going with that limp of hers than the size of her orb.

"Mmph!"

"Oh!" Fred felt a bit sheepish as he went to unearth George from the pile of snow he had been encased under after the weighed-down branch above him had deposited it on him only moments before. "Sorry, Georgie!"

His twin hacked up a glob of white as he regained his breath, blinking around blearily, before his eyes shot wide and he ducked quickly to avoid a snowball that embedded in the tree behind him.

Fred wasn't so lucky, getting a shot to the stomach courtesy of Ron.

"Firsties versus Thirds!" Hope yelled, her thickly gloved hands clutching two impressive snowballs. "We're going to cream you!"

"Bring it on, Potter!" they said, dodging quickly to avoid the barrage, ducking quickly behind an oak tree, making their white orbs in its safety.

She shrieked at the snowball that jarred her in the back. "You brats!" she yelled, scooping up the snow beside her as she leapt after the madly cackling twins. "I'm going to get you!"

George yelped as she flung her body onto his back, shoving the ball of ice down the back of his shirt, making his body arch in an effort to make the cold ball not touch his skin. "MERLIN'S BALLS!"

Hope laughed loudly as he fell into the snow, thus adding more snow to his skin.

"Better luck next ti-ah!" Hope rolled off his back, dodging Fred's snowball aimed at her forehead. "Bring it on, you arse-hole!"

"Switching sides already?" he jeered back, only to yelp as she lobbed a new snowball at his big, fat mouth. "I'm gonna get you!"

"You can try!" she yelled back, dancing out of the way as George's snowball flew past her face by a few inches, a few scant inches at that. And then she fell over. Three ginger heads swiveled in her direction, but the funniest part is that none were more surprised than Hope herself. The stunned expression was priceless as she stared down at her now immobile leg.

She swore. Loudly.

The boys laughed. Louder.

"Unfair!" she complained as she struggled into an upright sitting position, bending the leg at the knee in an attempt to force the tense muscle to relax. "I've got-oh!"

She tried hard not to blush as she was swept up into George's arms, but she had lost that battle a long time ago.

* * *

"Hand it over, George!"

The twins were grinning ear to ear as they tossed Percy's prefect badge back and forth causing a general ruckus in the Gryffindor Tower with their older brother. Hope smiled through sleepy eyes, stuffed with the Christmas dinner they had just had. Ron had bypassed her completely, dozing in the armchair closest to the fire. Sometimes she wished she could fall asleep as easily as him, but that was far from her reach.

"Freddie!"

George lobbed the badge to his twin, ducking under Percy's arms, dancing out of reach. Hope chuckled softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she did so in an effort to focus a bit more on the impromptu game. Fred and George were nothing if not persistent, at least that could be said of them.

She leaned back suddenly so it wouldn't bash her across the head as it passed, turning a baleful stare towards Fred, her face no longer amused.

"Whoops!"

She rolled her eyes as Percy took that brief lack of attention to steal his badge back from his brothers.

"That's enough!" he snapped, their antics grating on his last nerve.

"Boys," Hope said in a tired voice, "play nice." She turned her big green eyes on George. "Please? For me?"

"Sure!" George said with a wide grin, the tips of his ears a little pink, making his twin snort. "Yeah, we'll just head up to bed now-"

Fred winked at her as they ascended the stairs after their younger brother who quickly –and sleepily- bid his friend goodnight. Percy made to follow them when Hope stalled him with her words.

"Spare a moment, would you, Percy?"

Percy Weasley glanced over her, taking in her sleep-lined features, despite her lively green eyes which glowed strangely in firelight. She looked very exhausted, as if she hadn't slept well in a long time.

"I have an academic question," she added at his confusion (and concern). "I wanted to do an extra credit paper on Nicolas Flamel for Professor Binns, but I'm not quite sure what kind of book would have something about him."

"Nicolas Flamel?" Percy repeated. "The famous alchemist?"

Hope snapped her fingers, a grin touching her lips. "That's the one! So, do you know what kind of…"

"Well, the man is over six-hundred years old," Percy admitted, "maybe the books you're looking in are too modern?"

Her surprise melted quickly. "Thanks, Percy!"

Percy smiled gently as she dug through her bag for her books. "No problem, just try not to stay up too late, alright, Hope?"

"You got it," she responded, her finger tracing down the page as she skimmed for the name. Percy got the feeling that she wasn't really listening to a word he said, but there was no use in responding, she probably wouldn't hear it either way. So, he muttered a hasty goodnight and ascended to his empty dormitory, leaving her in silence.

He was over six-hundred years old? That would explain why he wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time, or Important Modern Magical Discoveries, or even A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. Those books would all be to up-to-date for him to appear in.

Hope sighed a bit forlornly. She didn't feel like going upstairs to grab any of the ancient books in the library of her trunk, but as she sat there in deep thought, she decided she would to grab her new (and old) invisibility cloak.

Use it well, her note had said, and what else could she do with it but walk about the castle when most others were fast asleep? It was almost too hard to resist and five minutes later she was moving invisibly through the halls. She was mildly tempted to investigate the Restricted Section of the library, but as she already had the general idea of who Flamel was, there really was no point to, so she merely wandered about, simply gazing at the pictures she passed. She had never particularly noticed how beautiful some of them were.

Then, she had to stop, because a suit of armor was staring right at her, like right at her! And she was wearing the invisibility cloak! Its visor creaked as if it was smiling underneath. Automatically, her eyes dropped to the crest that was on its shield; the snake of Slytherin. That explained so much. Hope wasn't sure how long she stared at him, when she jumped as his back bent forward slightly in a barest of respectful bows.

His (it was a guy, wasn't it?) response made her incredibly nervous, and she stepped backwards suddenly, almost bumping into a professor but catching herself at the last possible second and teetering away from him suddenly.

It was Snape. She held her breath, her hand covering her mouth and nose effectively as he stared right at her. It was quite a bit like the way the suit of armor had, but his was unnerving, because she knew he couldn't see her, but she had the feeling that he knew she was there.

She backed away from him slowly, careful to make as little noise as she could, moving backwards until she was out of his sight and she could breathe again. She gulped the air greedily, resting her back against the door that she had hidden behind. Her lungs felt as though she had swallowed fire; exactly how long had she been holding her breath?

It was only when she opened her eyes that she realized she had no idea where she was.

The cloak fluttered to her feet as she stood, gazing inquisitively at the only item that lay in the room. It was tall, nearly reaching the ceiling and hidden behind a lengthy maroon sheet. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she limped forward to grasp a bit of the material and yank it from whatever it was hiding. She gave the barest of tugs and the sheet fell, pooling at her feet, revealing what lay beneath.

It was a mirror. That stunned her, because why on earth would someone want to hide a mirror? It was beautiful too, she had to admit, standing on a pair of golden clawed feet that matched its intricate golden frame. Carved into the frame that was spread across the top were letters and words that made no sense to her: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. They weren't from any language she'd ever read, not that she'd read many to begin with, so it must have been a code. A code written on a mirror… her eyes narrowed, her lips moving soundlessly as she read the letters backwards, as words often appeared in reverse when shown in a mirror: I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Heart's desire…that was a bit foreboding. Her breath shook as she breathed in and out slowly, her eyes closing before she could even look upon the reflection.

Theoretically, she could leave this room and pretend she'd never gone exploring, but at the same time, she wished to know what her greatest desire was. So, at long last, her eyes finally fluttered open to stare at her reflection.

At first it was simply her, standing there, twisting the black stone on her ring with a sorrowful expression. Hope knew that expression well. She stepped back suddenly, a startled gasp escaping her lips as two figures appeared beside her.

The one on the left she recognized easily, for it was the face she saw in the mirror, the face of Lily Potter. She was far more beautiful than she could have possibly imagined, Hope would have likened it to gazing upon an angel or a dryad of Greece who were notoriously fair.

"Mum?" she whispered faintly, her eyes glazing with tears as her mother's lips widened into a smile that recognized as her own. It was only then that she shifted her eyes to the man who was her father. His hair was messy and black and his eyes were a bright hazel, framed by circular glasses. She had never seen a picture of James Potter before. When she was little, she would play a little game of pretend and guess where her looks came from, as it had been before she had found a picture of her mother that Petunia had kept. She imagined that she got her eyes from her Mum and her hair from her Dad. It made her a little sad that she didn't really have any of her father's physical traits.

His eyes grew soft as if he could read her mind and hear her thoughts, and the image of her parents morphed into her reflection, but the image of the eleven year old witch was growing before her very eyes until a young woman stood before her. Her dark red hair shimmered different colors in the sunlight as it caught her thick and loose braid, her eyes as bright as her smile. In her arms she contently held a small boy with red hair and green eyes and an impish smile, looking very much like his mother.

She stumbled backwards in shock and a spiteful voice inside her head whispered, _There you go, Hope, what you really want is a family of your own._

Her sadness was mixed with happiness as her parents reappeared, their smiles sadder than before. She felt at a loss as she stumbled backwards and away, but it wasn't like she could change what she wanted to see, could she? Her eyes fell instead to the floor so she would not have to feel the obligation to stare upon the mirror's reflective surface once more, because she had felt the keen sting and ache that enveloped her heart, leaving a residual pain that lingered.

* * *

It was late at night when George slipped soundlessly down the stairs, shivering at the cold. He wasn't sure why it was that he was so cold, because Fred had been sleeping soundly in bed next to him. So he had left the dormitory to make his way down the stairs to sit before the fire.

"What are you doing?" a tired voice proclaimed from the couch.

George swore as he stumbled and fell on his face, twisting to stare at Hope.

Her eyes were closed, giving off the impression of sleep, though her lips twitched into a smile. She had a number of blankets wrapped around her and the Tales of Beedle of Bard and a small book had fallen open to the ground perhaps minutes or hours before.

"Er…nothing," George said quickly, feeling secretly pleased that she had been reading his book.

She opened one sleepy green eye, the fire dancing in the orb, making it appear as mystical as the moon outside, before closing it rather lazily. "What're you doing down here?"

"I was sleeping," she said in irritation, "you know, dreaming."

"About what?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Some inventive ways to shut you up, now go to sleep."

"Oh yeah?" George quirked his eyebrows in amusement. "Like how?"

"Go away!" she groaned, burying her face in her pillow that had been pushed against the arm of the couch.

"No, seriously, what are you doing down here?" he asked her.

She lifted her head, her eyes twinkled. "Sleeping, Weasley, now, off you go." Then she paused. "Wait…why are you down here?"

George shifted uncomfortably, garnering the green-eyed girl's unabashed interest. She didn't comment on how obviously cold he was, simply crooking a finger towards him, inviting him closer. As soon as he was near enough to touch, she cupped his cheeks with her warm hands, letting out a hiss of surprise.

"You're ice cold!"

She dragged him slightly closer, brushing the back of her hand against his forehead and cheek. "What have you been doing, Mister Weasley?" she admonished him as she pulled one of the blankets from her back to don his like a majestic cloak. "Geez! Have you been sitting in an open window?" she demanded, her eyes sparking in the firelight.

George opened his mouth to refute, but his cheeks had flushed so suddenly with heat that he found himself at a loss of words. She looked so pretty when she was angry on his behalf (and at him, at the same time).

"That's very helpful," Hope added dryly, ignoring the blush on his cheeks as best as she could, though she couldn't help but wonder what had brought it on. "You're a menace, you know?"

"It's been said," George agreed, regaining his voice.

"I hope so," she said in return, ignoring the unintended pun on her name that she had used. "I didn't get to tell you earlier, but I really liked your present."

A pleased grin lit his face. Hope tried not to blush. "Really?"

"Yeah," she agreed, "but what are the Tales of Beedle the Bard?"

"Oh, they're a collection of children's stories," George informed her with a smile. "Mum used to tell them to us when we were kids. Did you like them?"

"I haven't had the chance to read it yet," Hope admitted, blinking harshly in the half light, rubbing her eyes and giving a wide yawn that reminded George a bit of how Ginny was when she was tired. "Are they any good?"

"Depends on what you like," George offered, "Everyone's got a favorite, I suppose, and everyone's got one that they'd rather hear first to get it over with."

Hope quirked a curious eyebrow, a soft smile lighting her lips, making her face seem more alive. "Oh? Why's that?"

George looked at her oddly. "Well don't you have a least favorite and favorite fairy-tale? Don't muggles have fairy-tales?"

The smile her face now bore was on the bitter side, but also filled with deep longing. "They do, but I never read or had any read to me, I preferred the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings a hundred times over to those unrealistic fairy-tales of theirs," she said, waving a dismissive hand.

"What's a Hobbit?" George asked in confusion, having never heard the term before.

Hope's eyes lit up as she laughed. "It's a being that lives in the fantasy world of Middle-earth, and they're very short and walk barefoot. They don't approve of adventures but one of them always manages to go off on one…I wanted to be a hobbit when I was a little girl," she said stoutly.

George was staring at like he'd never quite seen anything like her (which was quite true, but never mind that). Short, he could see, barefoot, also, and seeking an adventure, that was a given. "I think you'd be a good hobbit."

She smirked. "Coming from someone who doesn't really know what a hobbit is?"

"Nope!" George said, popping the 'p'.

Amusement lifted her lips. "I could read it to you, if you like, The Hobbit."

His blue eyes watched her for a long moment, which would have been unnerving if she wasn't so used to looking into his eyes (they were such a pretty blue…and very hypnotic, but she would have rather clubbed herself over the head with a blunt axe than admit that). She wasn't sure what it was that he sought in her eyes, but she was certain whatever it was couldn't be found there.

"I'd like that."

She was so focused on his eyes, she'd almost missed his words. She blinked twice. "Pardon?"

His lips twitched. "Storytelling, I'd like it."

Her beaming smile outshone his as she scooped the fragile looking book from where it lay atop a book on Egyptian Mythology. George noted that the spine was falling apart from how often she'd read it.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," Hope began, the bright smile still lighting her face as she read the long-familiar words. "Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."

"Why does that mean comfort?" George found himself asking, much like a child interrupting their story-telling parent with needless questions.

"Because homes are filled with comfort, now hush!" Hope admonished with a grin. "It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with paneled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats – the hobbit was fond of visitors."

Neither knew how long they sat listening or reading from that book, but Hope's gentle earth-enriched voice paired with the warmth of the fire lulled George to sleep in no time, the last words he heard and understood being: "Bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams. It was long after the break of day, when he woke up…"


	7. Moving On

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Seven: Moving On**

**AN: So sorry for the long wait, but I got really distracted by the Hobbit (if it wasn't obvious by my new fanfic), and I'm trying to update about four fanfics at the same time. I didn't want to post anything while I was super obsessed with the Hobbit, because it would end up too fantasy-like with strange magical creatures and weapons, lots of weapons, and I wanted this fic to stay in relatively normal boundaries. Hope you all enjoy it!**

* * *

Hope worried Ron. It wasn't the normal worry either, as she typically worried him with that leg of hers. She had an obsession with that old mirror. Ron had seen it's strange, mysterious powers himself –him, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain!- but the way Hope was drawn to it couldn't be healthy. Her temper was rearing its ugly head too, so now Ron had to be extra careful about what he said to her. He could only hope that she'd snap out of it soon.

Hope, on the other hand, though Ron was being ridiculous. She was not obsessed! Hardly! She just couldn't help but be fascinated by a mirror that could show you what you wanted, whatever you wanted. What kind of magic was that, exactly? The mirror was certainly old, perhaps older than Hogwarts, and had carvings reminiscent to the Celtic Tree, which meant (at the most basic level) that everything was connected to each other. She'd seen the same carvings at the main level of Hogwarts –at its foundation, appropriately- only in stone.

And so, on the third night, she returned once more to marvel at the ceiling-high mirror. This time, though, she wasn't alone.

"You can come out, you know," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance, "I can hear you."

For one startled moment, Hope was almost certain that she had imagined it, but then a smooth voice answered her.

"Your eyes are keen, Elpis." The words echoed in the silence, hiding the speaker's location, until-

She twisted around to glare with angry red eyes at the speaker. "It's Hope, you arse-hat!"

The soft chuckle emanated from the space of the doorway as a young man walked through it, seemingly unaware of Hope's venomous stare as he moved forward to stand beside the first-year, gazing into the mirror as well. She wasn't too surprised by his appearance, considering she'd already seen a picture of the youthful Salazar Slytherin.

"Quite a marvellous display of magic, no?" he inquired, his lips twitching slightly as he did so, glancing down slightly towards his many times great grand-daughter. "Took me a very long time to craft it, you know."

"You made it?" Hope was much too surprised to be angry this time. "I mean, I knew it was old…and the pattern is almost identical to the pattern on the bricks at the foundation of Hogwarts."

"Caught that did you?" He sounded a bit pleased that she had noticed. "Aye, I made it for your dear old grand-mum." He ran a hand along its surface, recalling when he had etched it by hand so very long ago, though, to him, it seemed like only short years as opposed to centuries.

"Oh?" Hope said, though her voice was soft. Salazar took note of it immediately as he glanced back at her, trying to gauge her reaction, but the dark –for her hair was now pin-straight and black- fringe hid her expressive eyes from view.

"Morea was a very difficult woman," the man said with a laugh that far more light-hearted than he was portrayed, "and she was set on being a powerful, unmarried witch at the time, she wasn't someone you could simply woo."

"No matter how hard you tried?" she asked dryly.

He chuckled nervously, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Well, she was a beauty and had such a fiery spirit. She turned me down a total of thirteen times."

"For marriage or just courting?"

"That was just to court her," he admitted, "took me seven tries to propose marriage, but anyways, back to the mirror. I was trying to show her that even she had something that she desired."

"Hm," was all Hope said to that. "You are a very strange man."

"And you're a thief," he retorted, though he didn't deny her words.

A laugh actually escaped her lips this time at his words. She hadn't been much of a thief to begin with. "Not anymore; I can't be a good thief if I can't run away as fast."

Her grandfather's eyes dropped to her leg that was in the thick wrap she wore while sleeping. His magic was weak as it was and his time in this realm was short; he could not heal her leg.

"I'm not asking you to."

He blinked his pale green eyes, meeting her still-red ones. Oh, he must have spoken aloud. The stony stare was one that he'd often been on the receiving end of, courtesy of Morea. He reached out a hand to steady her as she struggled into a standing position, but she ignored it.

"I love a good challenge," she said with a smirk reminiscent of her father's, "and I don't need some century-old ancestor of mine keeping tabs on me. Go," her voice dropped, becoming soft, "be with your wife; she's waited long enough for you, don't you think?"

Salazar's eyes softened, raising a hand to cup her cheek as he did so. "You remind me a good bit of her," he said quietly, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone. "Spirited with fire in the heart…and curious, ever curious. She had the same kind of curiosity that drove my son mad."

Hope froze into an ice statue under his hand.

"He was a bright, fascinated creature, until he delved too deeply into the very arts you yourself are drawn to," he said quietly, his eyes shadowed and his face unreadable. "I pray that the same does not become of you, granddaughter."

"And if it does?" Hope whispered, her mouth dry.

His eyes glowed as he met hers, one last time. "It won't," he said with certainty, "because you have something that keeps you pure."

And then he faded from the world of the living completely, leaving Hope alone before that mirror of his.

Pure had many connotations, but she was pretty sure that he wasn't talking about virginity. When she thought of pure, she thought of a slate wiped clean, or the colour white. Pure…something that keeps you sane…was it stupid that she thought of George's insane smile?

"Back again, Hope?"

She screamed, loudly, twisting around wildly, her wand tangling with her sleeve as she pointed it aggressively at the speaker. Not really a good thing, as the person who had spoken was Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Don't _do_ that!" she gasped, her heart still throbbing in her chest, too startled to realize how rude she was being. "I don't like to be-" She waved the hand that held her wand around for effect, giving her a chance to get a few gulps of air.

An amused smile settled on his lips and his eyes twinkled behind his crescent spectacles. Crazy old man… Her heart rate picked up for a moment when she thought that the headmaster had heard the words she had exchanged by arguably the most dangerous of the Founders of Hogwarts, but then she realized that he hadn't been standing there long, so he couldn't have. She relaxed slightly as that knowledge seeped through her, reminding herself that some things should be kept secret, for more than one reason.

"So," Dumbledore continued with that mild voice of his, "you, like hundred before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

Green eyes drifted back to the reflective surface, almost involuntarily. Longing filled them as she watched her mother weave together a wreath of flowers which she placed like a tiara onto child-Hope's head, and as she father lifted her up and swung her around, making child-Hope giggle. She bit her lip, sucking it between her teeth to force it to stop trembling.

"Delights?" she grumbled under her breath. "Hardly." Delight was not a good word to describe this situation she found herself in. Taunting, perhaps, but not delightful in the slightest.

"I expect you've realized by now what it does?" Dumbledore continued, not having heard her grumble.

Hope twisted slightly to glance back to him. Was it her, or did he look a little sad? Perhaps he too saw something he had lost once. "It shows us what we want most in the world, even if it cannot be granted to us."

The answer surprised and impressed Albus Dumbledore, who had thought she would need a bit of prodding to come up with it. Lily's daughter through and through; he shouldn't have expected any less.

"Yes," he said in agreement, "however, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men and women have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible." As he said this, her lips turned downwards, irritation settling onto her face. Was that a jibe at her? She knew the difference between reality and illusion, thank you very much. "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Hope, and I ask you not go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, please remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

"In the mirror," Hope said suddenly, before he could leave, "in the mirror, what do you see, if I may ask?"

She saw a flicker of that aged sadness before he gave her a kindly smile. "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks."

The dubious stare Hope's face bore told tale of disbelief. Was that the best lie he could come up with?

"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore said, giving her a conspirator wink. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People insist on giving me books." And with that being said, he left the Gryffindor to mouth wordlessly in his wake.

"Argh!" she burst aloud, slapping her cold cheeks feverishly with her hands until she was sure they were red from the movement. "_Stupid-stupid-stupid girl!_ Should've listened to Ron in the first place! _No good- foolish- rotten piece of sh-_"

"Hope?"

Hope swung around on the heel of her good leg, her hands still on her cheeks. She must have looked quite the picture. "Ron?" Her first friend wasn't too surprised of her situation (she could see his lips twitching at how she looked, though), though a little exasperated. "What're you doing here?"

"Trying to keep an eye on you," he said with no short measure of annoyance. "You and that mirror are a bad combination, you know."

She wrinkled her nose at that, resisting the urge to get one last look at the mirror. It had, after all, been a creation of Salazar Slytherin, and could –arguably- be as dangerous as he had been in life. She grimaced. "Well," she mumbled, punctuating her words with a tired yawn, "you aren't wrong there, mate."

"When was the last time you slept?" Ron demanded as she stumbled forward, pulling one of her arms over his shoulders as he did so, the other wrapping securely around her waist.

"Mm…dunno," Hope slurred in exhaustion as he pulled her through the door (bending down to grab her cloak because she'd probably kill him with he forgot it), down the corridor and up a few stairs. Her brain wasn't functioning as well as it should, because she asked: "How many hours are in three days?"

Ron crooked an eyebrow at her, almost tripping over a step. "You haven't slept in seventy-two hours?!"

"Wasn't really tired at the time," she murmured as they came to a stop in front of the portrait hole, taking but a second it get into it, "but I'm really sleepy now…weird…"

Ron rolled his eyes at his friend who had collapsed onto the couch –which had become her makeshift bed during the Christmas hols-, hoisting the thick blankets up around her small body and curling her arm over her pillow and under her head. He was more than slightly amused when she fell instantly to sleep.

No sleep for three days? Ron could only shake his head at that. You wouldn't catch him doing such a thing as foolish as spending hours upon hours staring into a mirror that showed you something you would never have (for her at least). He'd prefer sanity instead.

* * *

Hope slept through the whole next day, which was an impressive feat on its own, as Fred and George often forgot that she was slumbering away on the couch, unaware of all that transpired. Which was really lucky, because Fred had taken to concocting scenarios to how she would awaken; George kissing her awake was quite popular (George gave his twin a glare for that). It was only the day after when she finally awoke, well rested. It was still dark out, but Hope hurried into the shower and into a fresh set of clothes before leaving the common room in a rush. It was a miracle none of the Weasley boys awoke from the noise she made, but she paid it no heed, limping down the stairs with her cane in hand, making for the viaduct bridge.

The sun had only just begun to paint oranges and pinks across the sky, luckily for Hope, who had long desired to see a winter sunrise (and sunset), yet never seemed to awaken early enough to see the former.

"Miss Potter?"

Professor McGonagall was surprised to find one of her favourite Transfiguration students leaning against a window of the viaduct. Her face was set in a surprisingly bright expression and her eyes -dark brown- were millions of miles away. She was positive she hadn't heard her. "Miss Potter?"

No response.

She reached out a gentle hand to rest it upon her thickly clad elbow when she jerked away suddenly, twisting violently, her eyes wild (turning bright hazel).

"Oh," she gasped, resting a hand against her chest. "Professor! You startled me!"

"I can see that," Professor McGonagall said dryly, "shouldn't you be sleeping Miss Potter?"

"Sleep-?" she started in confusion before staring out at the early morning sun. She waved a hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "Oh, I slept the whole day away; heaven knows I don't need any more rest."

Her professor's face grew concerned, but she just laughed and waved it off. "Don't look so worried, Professor, my mind was too active for sleep."

Her eyes grew to the same colour of pink that was painted across the horizon as she leaned her elbows on the stone. She didn't know why, but she had an utter fascination with the sky, whether it be night or day, stars or not (though, preferably with stars).

"And why, may I ask, are you out so early in the morning?" McGonagall asked primly, glancing her over with a careful eye.

The grin she gave her in response reminded her of the girl's deceased father a bit too much. "Why, to see the sunrise of course." She could hear James' amused sort of mocking way of talking.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course," she said automatically, reminded distantly of a young Lily Evans asking her if it really mattered how she had inherited her magic.

"Do you ever not compare me to my parents?"

The tone of her voice was strangely blunt, not at all like her emotion-filled voice. It made McGonagall feel oddly guilty, as if she was the child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Honestly, she was startlingly like either of her parents that it was difficult to not view her as such, and she told her that (voicing it as delicately as she possibly could).

Hope's eyes turned an icy-blue and she gave a small huff of annoyance, muttering something unsavoury and French under her breath. She knew French? "I don't like when people compare me too much to my parents," she said finally, brushing her hair from her face, curling one strand around her finger as she did so. "They often forget that I am not them." Her eyes fastened on McGonagall as if to say "like certain professors, for instance."

McGonagall's smile was thin. "You have my sincerest apologies, if I have offended you." And she meant it.

"You haven't," Hope said with an air of amusement. "I was just going to see if you were going to admit it."

It was so utterly backhanded and Slytherin that McGonagall was impressed. She had enticed an apology out of her with very few words.

"I do not think your parents would have dared to do something like that," the older woman said dryly.

Hope laughed, her laughter bringing a new light to her eyes. "That is good to know." This whole situation was a bit odd, as students didn't typically have casual conversations with their teachers, unless it involved their grade or schoolwork in general.

"Then, would you mind if I asked you a question myself?" she asked, to which Hope gave a light inclination of the head, her eyes once again on the sky beyond.

"You're a metamorphmagus, so why don't you ever change the colour of your hair?" She had never seen it not that dark crimson that she had inherited from her mother.

"I was told that it suited me," Hope said calmly, though her cheeks had flooded with colour, greatly amusing the professor. Like father, like daughter, she thought, being attracted to red-heads, and all.

"George Weasley is not wrong."

Her cheeks turned the colour of beets and she stared, stunned at McGonagall. "Now, wait a _mo'_, I never _said-!"_ Her words quickly faded into incoherent ramblings that she couldn't decipher, but at the same time, didn't need to.

McGonagall's lips spread in a slight smile as Hope turned up her collar against the wind and turned on her heel, still sputtering about professors and troublemaking red-heads. That was something she had often heard Lily Evans complaining of (though her thoughts involved "toe-rag" and "black-haired fool" more often than not), with slight variations, of course. But, now that she'd thought about it, she'd never heard George and Hope fight so vocally or rudely (or at all) as her parents had.

It seemed Hope really was a bit different than her parents.

* * *

Fred wasn't quite sure how he got roped into helping Hope make a snowman, but the fact remained that he had. One would have thought that she had confused him with his brother, but Hope didn't make such mistakes. As it just so happened, George hadn't finished his homework and had been forced by Percy to remain inside (with Ron as well, who had left his holiday homework to the last minute) and finish it. Hope had pouted and begged until finally Fred gave in (mostly so she would simply cease her behaviour) and was dragged out into the freezing wind.

Hope's intense eyes –because, make no mistake, they were intense; he didn't know how George could stare so easily into them every day- were narrowed in concentration as she knelt in the snow, packing the snow together into a large ball.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked her with a quirked eyebrow.

She laughed lightly. "Of course, but this snowman is going to be the best snowman in the world, so I must give a little to gain a lot," she said stoutly in an almost childish gesture that got him for about five seconds until he realized she was joking. "'Course I'm cold, _you numpty_! I just want to make a snowman, that's all."

Fred stopped where he was making the body (as Hope was making the base) of the snowman. "Have you ever made a snowman?" he asked cautiously, silently wishing he had George to deal with all this (she told George everything).

Hope's thickly gloved hands stilled over the snow. "Why do you ask?" she inquired, her voice strangely high, giving her away.

"I just do," Fred said bluntly. "So? Have you ever made a snowman?"

A sigh of visible fog left her lips as her eyes fluttered closed for a short moment. Fred wasn't quite sure why, but she seemed to be gathering herself, like whenever his dad got angry. "No," she said finally, "I've never made a snowman in all my life."

"Why not?" Fred asked, honestly curious.

Hope pursed her lips at the question. "Because Petunia didn't want me mixing with her son, or having any kind of fun, now that I think about it. She thinks I'm a bit unnatural, so does her husband." She grinned suddenly. "Hence why I've been a complete utter _bitch_ for the last few years."

"You are unbelievable, you are," Fred said with a bit of awe, staring at her as if he had never quite looked at her properly.

"Thank you," she said, batting her eyelashes at him in a flirtatious gesture, "but I think George might get a little jealous if you keep talking like that, Mister Weasley."

Fred snorted at her comment as she pulled a carrot missing its tip out of her pocket and stuffing into the centre of the head, using an assortment of coloured buttons as the eyes, mouth, and (obviously) the buttons that went down the front.

She grinned feverishly, clapping her hands together in happiness. "See, told you! He's perfect!"

Fred wasn't so sure with a bulging belly like that (he wasn't quite sure how exactly it had gotten so big, but here it was, oh well). "Are you sure? He looks a bit on the plump side…"

"What are you talking about?" Hope chortled. "He's beautiful! And I'm going to call him Bombur, just to be on the safe side."

Fred couldn't help but stare at her as if she had a second head as she hummed the lyrics to the song she had sung –embarrassingly- for George not several nights earlier whilst reading that first chapter of her beloved book:

"_Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks!_

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates-_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"_

It finally made sense when George and Hope explained it a dinnertime, but at the same time, made no sense at all. And, thus, Hope became the not so official storyteller of Gryffindor House, reading the Hobbit late into the night until her three-boy audience had fallen asleep. She shook her head; Weasleys never changed, did they?

**AN: So, Hope's finally got over her obsession with the mirror and Salazar the Spectre has moved on to the next life. One of the things that always bothered me was how often people mentioned how much Harry was like his father with his mother's eyes, so I wanted Hope to get annoyed too. Not much fluff in this chapter, but I figured that I should have a smidgen of bonding between Fred (who is completely Angie's) and Hope. Anyways! This chapter took me for-e-vah to finish, but I'm glad it's done! Please review!**


	8. Fears Ring True

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Fears Ring True**

* * *

The weather was downright terrible when Hope had gone down to practice for the up-coming Quidditch match, and it hadn't improved at all during the few hours that they'd practiced, in fact, it probably got worse. Hope could hardly see her hand in front of her, though Oliver's voice was loud and clear, his irritation leaking through at the twins pretending to fall off their brooms (which was a bit foolish, Hope had to agree).

"Will you stop messing around!" Oliver demanded, barely being heard over the dull roar of the storm around them. "Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

It was not a pleasant taste that mud had, just ask George Weasley who had fallen from his broom only moments previously, swallowing a bit of mud as he did so. He struggled to spit it out, howling, "Snape's refereeing?! When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if-argh!"

Five heads swivelled in the Weasley boy's direction, trying not to laugh, because Hope, who had just landed, hadn't been able to see very clearly in the dark and mud, and had tripped, falling onto his back, pressing his face into the mud again.

"Sorry," she groaned into his ear as she rolled off him into the mud as well. "It's kind of dark, you know…"

Angelina hid a smile –though Fred was roaring with laughter- as she helped the younger girl stand, but the smile soon slipped from her face. "What's wrong? You're really pale."

"Snape," she muttered simply, "the bane of my existence…why do the gods curse me so?"

Alicia Spinnet snickered behind her hand as Wood called out the end of practice. "Come on; let's get you changed, maybe that'll get you in better spirits."

"Doubtful," Hope grumbled, but complied all the same, limping in the direction of the changing room until Oliver had to run after her and tug her in the opposite direction, the real direction of the changing rooms. The girls ended up deciding to shower in Gryffindor Tower, because it was a much better prospect compared to the showers in the changing room, and so, not ten minutes later (because one could move very fast when a shower was near at hand) the chasers and seeker were washing the mud and grime and sweat from their bodies.

One thing everyone had to get used to in Hogwarts was the shared showers, meaning one didn't have much time to be self-conscious of their body. Of course, there were separate stalls, but with thin shower curtains. If you wanted to make sure your clothes didn't get wet, you usually had to strip before entering one of the stalls (something that Hermione wasn't a fan of).

Hermione wasn't really surprised to find her best friend and her teammates having yet another discussion as they showered; it happened more often than it didn't. Angelina Johnson was leaning on the tiled separator between her stall and Hope's, her chin propped on her arms.

"A bad feeling?" she asked dubiously. "About what?"

Hope shot her an annoyed glance, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. "You know what: Snape."

Hermione slipped into the stall beside Hope, flushing darkly when all the girls called out greetings to her.

Angelina arched an eyebrow at the younger girl. "What, you think he'll play dirty?"

The direction of this conversation was quite confusing to Hermione as she tossed a glance to Hope who in turn tossed a glance to Angelina that said "Snape always plays dirty."

"Snape's going to be the referee for the next Quidditch match," Hope supplied with an annoyed wrinkle of her nose. "And I have a bad feeling," she added as an afterthought.

"A bad feeling?" Hermione repeated Angelina's previous words. "Why?"

Hope's eyebrows creased in irritation, her eyes dark pits (it wasn't a look Hermione was fond of being on the receiving end of, though, thankfully, she rarely was). "Oh, I don't know," she said, her voice bitingly sarcastic, "maybe it's 'cause he's a cock."

The air was suddenly thick with coughs and gags and gasps, but Hope paid none of them any heed, seemingly more focused on her hair than anything else.

"What?" she demanded when the stares were turned on her. "Oh, come on! He's the biggest piece of-" she called Snape something that made Hermione say "_Hope_!"- "that ever lived! He doesn't teach us anything! The only thing I'm ever going to learn in his class is how restrain myself from taking my silver knife and shoving it-" She mimed the action, much to Alicia's amusement. "He has something against me, mark my words; he'll make the match a living hell."

Angelina couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. "Maybe he's just got something against Potters and Weasleys," she said, trying to sound reasonable, but not really hoping to change her mind about anything.

Hope gave her a baleful stare. "Or maybe he's got something against Gryffindors, the ruddy tosspot."

Katie sniggered quietly as Hope dressed in silence, still muttering obscenities under her breath, before bidding them all goodnight, leaving several pairs of round eyes staring after her.

"Do you…do you think she's alright?" Hermione asked quietly, still staring in the direction that her friend had left.

"Meh," Angelina said carelessly, with a wave of her hand, "don't worry, she's just been pushing herself really hard lately, and her leg's been bothering her; I wouldn't be surprised if she started hexing some people by the end of the week."

Hermione grimaced as the others left her in silence and solitude.

Angelina was right about one thing; Hope had been pushing herself very hard, harder than she should have. Hermione thought maybe something had happened over the holiday, but no one ever mentioned anything, so she assumed it was just her being irrational.

Hope had been so preoccupied before the holidays, it had almost seemed as if she was missing out on an assortment of things, but now she was lively, very lively indeed. Hermione had almost stayed at Hogwarts for the short vacation because she was worried about her friend, but Hope had convinced her that she was fine and didn't need any looking after.

She had been sure that there was something wrong with her leg, because she'd gone to her last few appointments without her or Ron, but she never said a word about it. However, when she had asked Madame Pomfrey about it, the woman had seemed surprised. She said that there was nothing of the sort wrong with her, more likely than not, it was the stress of the on-coming exams or the Quidditch match, or maybe she just wanted to be alone for a bit.

Hope had never worried about Quidditch matches before, though, but then those matches hadn't been conducted by the professor who hated you the most.

Maybe she was on to something with that bad feeling of hers.

The next few days didn't help Hope's mood, and she actually had to have both of the Weasley Twins restrain her from killing that blonde-haired ingrate whom shall never be named (cough, Malfoy, cough)

"Don't play," Hermione advised one night as Hope rested her cheek on her fist, her homework lying unfinished on her lap.

"Say you're ill," Ron added from the armchair, "you look the part, at least."

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione offered.

"_Really_ break your leg."

Hope rubbed a tired hand over her eyebrow, trying to ignore her low throbbing headache (or soothe it with the movement, she couldn't be sure which). "I can't," she refused simply. "Oliver'll kill me if I back out because of some unjust ruling, besides, if I did, we'd have to forfeit, because we don't have a reserve seeker."

"You're too nice!" Hermione moaned. "What if-" What if you're right? What if something bad happens? She didn't say anything, but she was sure the rest of her question showed on her face.

"I'll be fine," Hope assured her with that kind smile that suited a much older face. "You'll see-" Whatever else Hope had intended to say was cut short when Neville toppled into the room. The response: the whole common room erupted into loud laughter, annoying Hope as greatly as it had Hermione who had stood instantly, freeing his legs with the counter-curse.

Neville stumbled shakily over to the couch, on which Hope and Hermione had cleared a spot.

"Malfoy?" Hope asked sympathetically, sighing when he nodded mutely. "I tried to get me on my way out of the library earlier, but I knew the counter-curse."

"He got me there too!" Neville moaned into his hands. "He said he'd been looking for someone to practice it on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione said adamantly. "Report him!"

Hope tried to hide a snort; when did anyone take students seriously? She remembered how many times she complained to her muggle teachers of Dudley, whether it be cheating or other forms of bullying, and how they never seemed to side with her, or at least always believed whatever lie Dudley put out. Like when he told everyone "She slipped", and that was how she got in the car accident; so she was a klutz on top of being an attention-seeking liar (now that had just been insulting; if Hope had been someone else, she was certain she would have been bawling). McGonagall may be nice, but at a certain point you had to stick up for yourself.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron was saying (had she zoned out? She must have). "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"_Ron_!" Hope warned.

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville said in return, his voice becoming throaty and choked, as if he was holding back tears.

"That's not what Ron's saying," Hope disagreed, her eyes latching onto his, gazing into the brown orbs imploringly. "There are different kinds of courage and the Sorting Hat saw that in you. Ignore Malfoy, you're worth twelve of him, and he knows it," she said with finality to the round-faced boy, handing him a chocolate frog, "besides, he's an attention-seeking prat not worthy of yours." Sometimes when Hope spoke one had to take her words for granted, and this was one of those times.

"Thanks, Hope," he said, noticeably happier as he handed her the card that came with the chocolate before thanking Hermione as well and heading up for bed. Hope set the card on the small table beside the couch, staring into the fire once more.

Ron couldn't help but wonder what she saw in it, but Hope wasn't thinking about the fire at all.

Earlier that day she had passed by that same suit of armour that had bowed to her that time she had wandered the halls at night, during which she had discovered the Mirror of Erised. It was an accidental encounter, but she had been a bit surprised when the armour had spoken.

"What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?"

She had to pause, twisting on her heel to look at the suit of armour in surprise. Did it just ask her a riddle? "Excuse me?"

"What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?" it repeated again, in an ancient rumble.

"The letter M," she said without even blinking. How many times had she read that one? "But-"

"What fastens two people, yet touches only one?"

These riddles were on the easy side.

"A wedding ring," she said blandly, "why-"

"When one does not know what it is, then it is something; but when one knows what it is, then it is nothing," the suit of armour said.

Hope frowned, opened her mouth briefly, but then shut it just as quickly. "I don't know this one."

"It is a riddle."

"_Oh_," Hope said slowly, drawing out the word. "And why exactly are you asking me riddles?"

The suit of armour shrugged its armour clad shoulders. "You like mysteries, do you not, Milady?" Mysteries? Oh! Flamel! Her cheeks flushed with shame; she had forgotten all about him.

"Possibly," Hope answered after a long moment, "and why call me "Milady"?"

She could hear his smirk. "Well," he said in a pondering voice, "that might have to do with the fact that you are the descendent of My Lord Salazar Slytherin."

Hope blinked, staring at him for a long moment, before muttering softly to herself and stalking away.

Now –which was later-, she couldn't help but wonder how exactly he had known who she was. Then she realized that she didn't even know his name, how shameful.

She stared into the fiery depths, lost in thought, only dragging herself away when Hermione's voice could be heard in her peripheral. It was only much later, after everyone in her dorm had gone to sleep, that Hope finally decided to look into Nicolas Flamel once more. She fumbled with her trunk, thrusting her hand into its depths, feeling for the spines of the books, before finding the one she wanted and withdrawing it and climbing back into bed.

Greatest Wizards of Ages Past was the book in question. It looked to be a bit of a bore, but the man who'd sold it to her had said it would be useful for History of Magic, and he wasn't wrong, there.

Her illuminated wand tip was hidden behind the thick drapes so she wouldn't awaken her dorm mates as she skimmed the pages for one passage in particular.

_A Short Synopsis of Alchemy:_

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. An incorrect assumption was that the Stone could turn a base metal such as lead to gold or silver, when it can only turn metal to gold. The Philosopher's Stone has been a symbol of enlightenment or complete perfection, another reason for alchemists' to strive to create it._

_There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover, who celebrated his six-hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six-hundred and fifty-eight)._

A stone that could make one immortal, well, that would be something that a large number of people would desire. And there was the question of why Dumbledore would have it in Hogwarts; surely there were more secure holdings?

"Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want to keep safe- 'cept maybe Hogwarts." Wasn't that what Hagrid had said?

And then a vault had been broken into the day she'd gone with him to Diagon Alley, the same vault he'd emptied. If what he had removed from the vault was indeed the true Philosopher's Stone, then why hadn't the vault it was in been of a higher class?

She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully, theorizing for a few minutes more –some theories possible, some not so much- before calling it a day and slipping into a slumber.

* * *

Hope leaned forward on her arms, the cool air brushing against her hair as she looked out upon the terrace. The weather was alright, not completely lovely, but then, it was only March, so she shouldn't have expected any less. Fingerless red gloves covered her palms so that her hands wouldn't freeze quite so much while clutching her broom. She frowned in annoyance at the soft noises her leg brace made with every movement.

She hadn't told her friends of her recent breakthrough concerning Flamel, mostly because she was feeling a bit more than slightly vindictive.

Bad feeling were real, they existed. Hope was more than a little annoyed that everyone thought she was being silly about the whole thing. Sure Snape was a douche, but there was something else that sent a shiver down her spine. Bad things seemed to follow her onto the Quidditch pitch. So, Hope walked silently out onto the field, trying to calm her racing heart as she disappeared into the changing room, returning just as morosely.

"Hope?"

Her eyes shifted upwards to regard George's concerned blue ones. "Hm?" she mumbled quietly, her voice a little raw from trying to defend herself so much.

"Are you alright?" he couldn't help but ask her. She looked very anxious, more anxious than he'd ever seen her.

"Just fine," she murmured in the same quiet manner. He wasn't sure if she could raise her voice much higher than that.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he prodded.

She gave him an odd look. Maybe she looked tired (which she was; tired of trying to explain herself over and over again) "I slept fine."

"Hope!" Oliver sounded relieved when he saw that his seeker was already there and in uniform. "Good you're here! I need to talk to you for a second."

She nodded mutely, rolling her stiff shoulders to follow her captain.

George shared a glance with his twin. "Did she look a bit…worried to you?"

Fred's face was marred in a frown. "Angie says she's been a bit anxious about this match, something about Snape, I think."

Well, George couldn't fault her there.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter," Oliver was saying to Hope, "but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."

Hope gave a lazy salute, trying not to roll her eyes at him. "Yes, sir."

"Are you sure you're alright?" he pressed after a brief moment of assessing her, catching sight of her over-flushed cheeks and slightly glazed eyes.

She threw him an annoyed glance. "I'm fine, stop asking."

And Oliver relented after she gave him a firm glare.

"The whole school's out there!" Fred commented from the door. "Even- blimey- Dumbledore's come to watch!"

"Really?"

Fred turned towards Hope's voice and balked slightly. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

Hope had bent over backwards so that her body was shaped like a lowercase n. She rolled her eyes –the most life he'd seen in her today- and scoffed. "It's called stretching, genius."

If Hope was already that annoyed this early in the morning then the day was already off to a bad start. George winced behind him.

Hope pulled herself into a standing position, her eyes a brown so dark that they were almost black. "I still have a bad feeling," she grumbled under her breath as she fell into line with the rest.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," Angelina said in exasperation –and a bit of annoyance. "Stop worrying!"

The dark glare that settled on her face pulled Angelina's words up short, but, luckily, there was little reason to talk –or argue-, as not several seconds later both teams marched onto the pitch. Hope couldn't but feel a little glad that Snape looked a bit angry, though she couldn't fathom why; it was a beautiful day. Her eyes shifted upwards slightly, or at least it was a clear day.

They said their pleasantries, which consisted of a tough handshake by both captains and an agreeable nod –since it was Hufflepuff-, and the whistle perched between Snape's lips began the game.

Apparently Hope had already begun to gain a bit of a reputation, because the first Bludger she saw was the one hurtling towards her collarbone. She rocketed her broom upwards, but she needn't have worried; George battered it away sending it –whether accidentally or on purpose, she couldn't be sure- towards Snape.

A penalty was awarded to Hufflepuff, but Hope thought it was worth it. She winked at the grinning Weasley as he flew past. He almost missed the next Bludger; Hope took full credit for that.

Hope circled the pitch, eyes trained on anything that was gold, but in this crowd, that could be anything. Catch the Snitch fast, he said, before Snape gives Hufflepuff too many penalties, he said. Fine. Her eyes flashed to something that small and golden fluttering by the Ravenclaw stands. She didn't dare glance to the Hufflepuff seeker, Cedric Diggory, to see if he had seen it, already speeding towards it in a low dive that few ever dared to do (thus why she could hear, in the back of her mind, cheers and gasps), and even less at the speed she was going at.

Sharp dives were starting to become a signature of hers, something that both pleased and annoyed Oliver greatly (she suspected he was only annoyed because of the possibility of her getting ploughed). No one else minded as long as she made an attempt to worry about her own skin for once, which was rare.

She shot past Snape, hiding a smirk as she angled her elbow in such a way that it rammed into his side, but before he had the chance to call for a foul, Hope had pulled up, waving a clenched fist in triumph, inside which the silver wings of the Snitch fluttered weakly.

The roar was deafening; it had to be a record, someone catching the Snitch so soon after a match had starte-

_Wham!_

Hope didn't see it coming when something hard and round slammed into the back of her head, sending her toppling off the broom and into a freefall. She was barely conscious enough to hear the screams, but her world faded into blackness once her body collided with the earth. She _was_ conscious long enough to feel her bones crack and to feel the pain that resulted from them.

The whole school spilled out onto the field when the Gryffindor Seeker didn't move. Barely anyone had time to even think as Madam Pomfrey all but flew to her most frequent patient's side, her face pale with worry as her wand fluttered over the girl's body. If she had looked back, she would have seen the barricade the professors had to make to force the students back. If she had looked back, she would have seen how horrified both the Quidditch teams were. If she had looked back, she would have seen Hermione Granger in tears and Ron Weasley as white as a ghost. But, Madam Pomfrey had no time for such things, because, as it was, Hope Potter's life hung in the balance.

She needed to take her to St. Mungo's; this level of healing was out of her hands. She twisted the pearl ring on her pointer finger, cradling the back of Hope's neck so that the portkey wouldn't jar her head too much, before girl and Matron vanished from a sea of worry.

* * *

**AN: Don't hate me! I felt that Quirrel didn't put enough effort into trying to kill Harry, so I decided to add this in a spur of the moment. Concerning Poppy's skills: yes, she is totally capable of healing broken bones, but these broken bones were broken in various ways that could -hypothetically- damage her internal structures. **

**You lot should be happy that I decided to update this fic as opposed to ADKOG, but then…I did give you a cliffhanger…sorry about that, but it was the way I planned out this chapter to start with. On a happier note: I reached fifty reviews! That's amazing! To all my reviewers, you make me blush, thanks for the support! What would be even more amazing would be getting one hundred reviews (hint, hint). Until next time!**


	9. Broken, Renewed

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**Looking Beyond: Chapter Nine: Broken, Renewed**

**AN: So sorry about that terrible cliffhanger before, but it was the way I wanted it, so, oh well. I had a lot of problems with this chapter and I was almost considering going on hiatus for a little while, despite this being the most popular fanfic I have up right now. But here I am, giving you lot another four thousand words, enjoy!**

* * *

"_It's called flashing."_

"_Flashing? Why do you call it that?" Ron asked, canting his eyebrow slightly._

_It was a few weeks after the troll incident –as it was now called, rather famously- and Hope had finally agreed to tell Fred and George how she could get around Hogwarts so fast. Ron and Hermione had opted to tag along, wondering just what exactly she was going to show them._

_Hope's eyes rolled towards George who sniggered lightly. "'Cause one second you're there and the next you're gone," Hope said with a shrug, "like a flash; it's the best name I could come up with."_

_Hermione's mouth dropped. "You invented a teleportation method?!" You would have to be incredibly advanced-_

"_Don't be ridiculous!" Hope scoffed. "I just gave it a name, seeing as it didn't have one to begin with." She smiled at George. "Apple or orange?"_

_He blinked, not quite understanding, but he answered anyways. "Apple…why?" But by the time he blinked, she'd disappeared. _

_Fred twisted around, glancing in every direction. "Okay…so-"_

"_Here you are." An apple was tossed into George's hands and four pairs of eyes looked at it as if it was some sort of alien creation._

_Then, Hope had the audacity to yawn as if disappearing and reappearing just as quickly was common. George looked down at the apple then back up at her._

"_Its not poisoned," she said in amusement, "don't worry, Weasley, if I wanted to kill you, I would at least be more creative than that."_

George felt awkward sitting beside Hope as she slumbered, but he had been volunteered, so he had little choice. It was a wonder McGonagall hadn't asked his younger brother or the Granger girl ("Her name is Hermione, George," Hope admonished) to sit by her bedside. She was on the mend, the whole school had been assured of, but would be out of commission for a few weeks while she recovered from the extensive injuries she had sustained.

Hermione and Ron were taking it the worst, being her best friends, but even Angelina was feeling a bit guilty for tossing her worries aside. She had been right; every Quidditch game she'd played this year had been quite dangerous, so why didn't anyone believe her when she said that she had a bad feeling?

George exhaled loudly, curling his fingers around her limp hand. She was so pale and so small, the purplish smudges under her eyes stood out against her skin. Her hair was a silvery-blonde, almost hiding the blue-wait, what blue?

He frowned, gently brushing her hair from her shoulder to see the bit of blue coloring. What on earth was that?

"Still here?" a kind voice asked, making George quickly remove his hand and twist around to see a young woman in a healer's uniform. Her smile was kind. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine," George said, but his stomach gave a loud growl.

The healer smiled. "Come on, I'll show you to the floo-"

"What's the blue mark from?" George asked suddenly, gesturing to his slumbering friend.

She gave him a strange look. "What mark?" she asked, moving forward and pulling out her wand and hovering it over the area he had specified. "Oh," she said, relieved, "it's just a transfigured burn, nothing to worry about. Was she in a fire when she was younger?"

"I, I don't know," George admitted. "She barely talks about her childhood."

She said nothing to that, a slight smile brushing her lips as she glanced over the mark again. "The person who made it probably thought they were being clever."

"Huh?" George said in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It's an iris," she explained, straightening up as she did so, "and its blue; that is symbolic of hope."

"Oh," he said dumbly, but neither said anything else on the matter. George frowned again, dropping his hand onto hers to squeeze it gently, and he could have sworn that for one moment, she squeezed back.

Hope shifted slightly in the bed, her shoulders tensed as if in pain.

"Is she…in pain?" he asked.

"A bit," the healer admitted, "but that's expected, because we have to make sure everything's healing up properly; if we loaded her up with potions all the time, she wouldn't be able to know what was what."

"She would hate that," George agreed. "She hates when she gets sent to the hospital wing, always says the potions mess with her head."

She laughed lightly. "I know the type, so she's intelligent, then? Probably always has her nose stuck in a book?"

"Sometimes, but she's not much of a bookworm." This was very true. Where Hermione often spewed random dictionary definitions, Hope dumbed down or simplified her knowledge.

She winked after pulling the blankets more securely around her patient. "Don't worry, she'll be fine after she's rested a good bit, you'll see." And she left as swiftly as she had entered, leaving him in silence once more.

A soft sigh left Hope's lips as her tensed muscles relaxed and her fingers curled tightly around his, but she made no other movement.

George leaned down to lift a small spine-broken book from the pocket of his cloak, setting it down beside her. She would get bored with nothing to read if –when- she ever woke up, besides, it was her favorite.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You better wake up soon, Hope Lily Potter, you hear me? Soon."

He didn't see the ghost of a smile on her lips as he left, her mind still a muddle of pain and potions, but his voice rang familiar to her, though she could not place it yet in her memory.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey peered intently over her patient, her face lined with worry as she looked over her charts. The bones were healing nicely –at a much slower rate so as not to damage her internal organs- held in place by the bandages that were wrapped around the majority of her body, spelled to keep the bones beneath the skin in their proper places, and only a few of her organs were still bruised.

"So she's doing much better, then?" Madam Pomfrey guessed to the healer in charge of the student, Healer Archer. The girl hadn't stirred for nearly two weeks.

Archer smiled, patting the older woman's hand kindly. "Much better, Madam Pomfrey," she assured her, "she's tougher than she looks."

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit wry. "Oh, I know."

She reached down to smooth a loose crimson lock from her face when her eyes fluttering open at long last. They were the palest shade of green she'd ever seen, but it was the first sign of life in her that she'd seen in weeks.

"Hope!" she said in rather obvious relief. "You're awake! Finally!"

Those green eyes which had been staring at a spot on the ceiling above her shifted sideways to meet hers.

"P-Poppy?" her voice croaked, weak and raspy. "Wha-what happened?"

Madam Pomfrey couldn't even be a little annoyed that she used her first name –so much like James often had-, too relieved that she was awake, before she became quickly appalled at her attempting to sit up. "Don't do that! You'll-"

"Shut up," she advised astutely, raising a hand to inspect the thick bandages around her arms. "Do I look like a mummy?"

"Only a little bit, Miss Potter," Healer Archer said in amusement, stepping into the space beside her, opposite Madame Pomfrey. "I'm Healer Archer; I've been monitoring you since you arrived."

"What's a healer?" Hope coughed briefly before she was given a cup of water that almost slipped from her hands due to how weak and badly shaking they were.

"They're magical doctors," Madam Pomfrey explained in simple terms.

"Ah…" Hope said tiredly, her eyes staring vacantly around her as if trying to ascertain where she was.

"You're in St. Mungo's," she added, but Hope only stared blankly at her. "It's a magical hospital."

"Of course," Hope said bemused, glancing at the healer that was running her wand over her body. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Archer glanced up. "Oh, just checking your vitals, making sure everything's working correctly."

Hope's eyes didn't trust, but she made no other comment concerning the matter. "What happened exactly?"

"What do you remember?" Madam Pomfrey countered, instead.

Hope's eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to recall the events that led to her accident. "I had just caught the Snitch," she said slowly, curling her fingers inward until they made contact with her palm, as if still feeling the tingle of the cold metal. "And then something hard hit me in the back of the head and I fell off and fainted."

"Well," Madam Pomfrey began slowly, "the Hufflepuff Beater who hit the Bludger had actually been aiming in the opposite direction, so the ball was charmed to head towards you. He's been feeling rather guilty about the whole thing."

"I would assume so," Hope grunted over the growl of her stomach. "Damn, I'm starving!"

Archer chortled slightly and excused herself to bring the Girl-Who-Lived her long awaited food.

"Be honest with me, Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey warned, "how do you feel?"

"Like lead," she said bluntly, lifting her arms experimentally with difficulty, "are they supposed to feel like that?"

"Lead is good," Madam Pomfrey said, pleased. "The bandages are a bit heavy, but the weighted feeling means that they're healing properly."

"So when can I get out of here?" Hope asked bluntly, collapsing back into her pillows with another low groan. "I _hate_ hospitals."

"I had no idea," Madam Pomfrey said sarcastically, "though I suspect you will be leaving sooner rather than later, now that the healers can use undiluted potions-"

"That's…good," she said finally, "that's really good."

Hope seemed to be a bit lost in thought, sliding one of her two rings onto her finger where they had rested on the bedside table. It gleamed in the barely lit room.

"What's that?"

Her attention had been directed to a small pile of gifts at the foot of her bed. Their presence seemed to surprise her, making Madam Pomfrey smile. And then her gaze shifted sideways to the worn book that lay on the bedside table.

"Was George here?" she asked suddenly, straining the muscles of her arm so that she could reach the book and lift it with difficulty towards herself.

"Oh, yes," Madam Pomfrey agreed with a sly smile, "he was probably the most upset after your…fall."

Hope's cheeks darkened, muttering under her breath, "We're just friends."

She didn't notice the amused smile Madam Pomfrey cast her way, and she had no way of knowing that Madam Pomfrey was going to return to Hogwarts and inform her friends of her awakening and perhaps subtly (or not so subtly) suggest to the Weasley Twins a possibility of a truly spectacular welcome back gift.

* * *

The Fourth Floor was Spell Damage, and it was the floor that Hope's godmother and her husband had resided since that night in autumn all those years ago. It was quite late and she was certain most patients and healers were asleep, but Hope had a whacky sleep clock and a very awake mind. And the locks were really child's play, honestly, couldn't have they at least tried a little harder.

She twisted the knob of the door open slowly, entering the ward as quietly as one could with a leg like hers.

The Longbottoms weren't too difficult to find, but they were much harder to look at.

Alice Longbottom should have had a pixie-like look about her, but her cheeks were sunken and pale, far too pale, and her hair was white and wispy, nothing like the chestnut brown from the photo Hope had of her and her mother together. Frank was much like his wife, just as hollow-looking, just as dead-looking.

Hope could feel the bile rising in her throat and the tears clinging desperately to her eyelashes as she dropped a shaking hand until it hovered over Alice's limp one, but she didn't touch her. Maybe it was because she was afraid, or maybe it was because she didn't want to wake her.

Hope slumped into the chair that was positioned beside the bed for visitors, rubbing at her eyes and erasing all traces of the tears that never fell. So this was what happened to you from overexposure to the world's worst torture curse. Her stomach churned and she felt sick.

It felt quiet, too quiet. The only sound was of Hope's rather audible sigh.

"You don't know me," she whispered finally, but it sounded louder, much louder than she had intended, echoing in the silent ward, "but my name's Hope, and…I-I'm you're goddaughter."

She cleared her throat with difficulty, giving a shaky laugh. "I don't even know why I'm here, or what I could possibly say. You don't know me and I don't know you; we're strangers on a train, I suppose."

She bit her lip, plagued with uncertainty, before deciding to finally speak. "My name's Hope, but I don't really like it, because it's like I've got so much to live up to, and I hate that. I love Mum and Dad, but they're not here to…" her throat caught once more and she had to pause. "I'm sure they would have been great…" She breathed in and out deeply, trying to keep her emotions carefully in check, and failing.

"Anyways, er, I live with my mother's sister and her family, but they're rubbish and terrible caretakers, if you ask me. I'm not even sure if they have a kind bone in their bodies. They like everything neat and orderly, you know? And me? I like some disorder and things that maybe don't shine like they've been scrubbed over and over again. I like old-fashioned things, I guess, or at least things that have an old-fashioned look. I'm…" she faltered again; she was rambling, but it mattered little. "I'm sentimental."

"I've got a terrible temper," she added as an afterthought, "I'm not sure if I got that from Mum or Dad, maybe both. I was a very angry little girl," she said after a moment, simply twisting the opal ring around her finger, "or, at least, that was what I appeared to be. I had a terrible reputation when I was younger, always getting into trouble, bad-mouthing teachers." Her lips twitched slightly as she glanced towards the sleeping insane woman. "You can imagine, I'm sure."

"I was pretty quiet, kept to myself mostly, unless Dudley got involved," she admitted, "him and his mates always managed to piss me off, and the teachers always took his views over mine…that always made me so explosive."

"It hardly came as surprising when they told everyone I was going to St. Agnes' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Girls," she said with a despairing sigh. "I would've been a little insulted if I hadn't been so relieved to be leaving."

"Hogwarts is great and your son is a sweetheart." Hope glanced at the woman, as if hoping she could understand her or at least hear her, despite her sleep. "There are these two prankster twins, Fred and George, that are always getting into trouble, causing mayhem, the like, and they really cheer me up when I'm in one of my moods…its nice to have someone like that, I guess. I think Neville needs someone like that, someone that'll make him smile and laugh ridiculously."

She rubbed a hand absently against the scar across her leg. "Let me tell you about this one time in Potions…"

* * *

"Flashing in public? You _are_ bold."

Hope arched a crimson eyebrow at the very familiar suit of armor that met her in the stone courtyard. The cool wind whipped her hair around, making it difficult to look at him without restraining it with her hands. The way he said "flashing" made it seem like it was something more…vulgar, she supposed. Flashing was a simple enough magic, to those who knew about it, but those that did were few in number. It was much like apparition, in fact, one could say that it came before apparition. Hope preferred it either way, mostly because it couldn't be monitored by the Ministry of Magic (which was fantastic, because Hope was a bit rebellious, as you know), and secondly because she'd heard how…unappealing apparition could be.

"If you say so," she said wryly. "What's your name? I'm afraid I missed it during our last encounter."

She'd read up on Salazar Slytherin's guard soon after the Christmas holiday had ended, because she was almost certain that the suits of armor bearing the snake of Slytherin were his personal guards.

"Michael Richmond," he said at long last, sounding much younger than usual. "Sir Michael Richmond."

"Nice to meet you, Sir Michael Richmond," she said calmly, "but is there a reason you're keeping an eye on me?"

"I keep mostly to myself," he said defensively.

Hope arched her eyebrow again, dubious, but she smiled kindly. "To your post, Sir Knight."

He gave her a low bow and lumbered off, the sound of metal clashing together with every movement. He looked so utterly ridiculous, Hope could silence the small giggle that burst from her lips (she still blamed her grandfather for the whole thing; honestly, she didn't need to be watched like a child by someone who had been dead for at least a good thousand years).

She'd left the hospital despite them wanting her to remain for another few days, but Hope really hated hospitals. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with hospitals in general, or even doctors or healers, it was just that she didn't like being strapped to a bed. Not being able to move at all was possibly the most torturous thing she had ever endured; quite ironic considering her leg required her to not move for extended amounts of time.

She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her, hoping that it would shield her from the wind a bit more effectively, because, despite the fact that it was April, she was still in Scotland, and even they had cold weather. She glanced down at herself, noticing how muggle she looked and it made her smile.

The being trench coat was baggy on her, but she liked it too much to complain about the size (she'd grow into it), as usual, her legs were covered with thick tights, but her skirt was denim and worn, and her shirt depicted a band called the Weird Sisters (she had no way of knowing that it was actually a Wizarding band).

She looked perfectly muggle, which was good, because the Wizarding World was quite behind in what was considered fashionable, mind you, not that she cared much for fashion (Parvati was to blame for this, with what she and Lavender always talked about).

A harsh light danced in front of her eyes, making her step back (almost tripping; thankfully, she had her cane on her) and blink frantically.

It was a star. Well, not a real star, those massive balls of gas were light years away, but this was as close to a star as one could get. In awe, she tentatively reached a hand out to the floating light.

She had told them she liked to star-gaze…it could be no one else. She laughed out loud and swung her cane forward, heading inside and making for the Great Hall.

At first, no one noticed her –strange, to say the least-, but people began to notice that something was amiss when the reflection of the sky above them shifted suddenly to night with stars and the moon painting a lovely picture.

She was almost too busy admiring the scenery to notice the red blur heading her way, only catching sight of the twin a fraction of a second before she was swept into his arms with a hearty laugh.

"George Fabian Weasley, you put me down right now!" she ordered, despite her smile, ignoring the rising noise behind them.

"You are so…" George struggled to find the right words.

"Me?" Hope offered with a grin. "Oh, I know." Her green eyes glanced upwards briefly. "I like the present; very impressive magic."

His eyes lit up, and so did his ears, but that was nothing compared to his cheeks when she kissed one of them. "You are far too sweet," she said amused. "Oi! Fred! Get over here, I know you helped!"

Fred's casual smile never slipped as he gave her a tight hug. "I figured you wanted some privacy to snog Prince Charming over there-OW!"

Hope shook her cane aggressively at him, her cheeks only slightly flushed. "I have a cane, mister," she warned, "and I am not afraid to use it."

Her attention was now drawn to the pair that she had missed the most (sorry, George!), the two that looked the most like Hell. Red rimmed eyes and light bruising under the eyes told her all she needed to know.

"So," she began slowly, "which of you morons do I hug first?"

At those words, Hermione burst into tears, only slightly alarming Hope (nerves of steel, that one) when she flung her arms around Hope and sobbed into the shoulder of her coat.

"Er…its alright, see? Good as new. Well, I say new, but that's a relative concept. If I was as good as new then I wouldn't have any imperfections, which is impossible, since everyone's got those-"

"Shut up!" Hermione muffled into the material, before pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes. "You oaf!"

Hope held up a hand making a small space between her first finger and thumb as if to say "Just a smidgen."

"Miss me, Ron?" she grinned, her eyes glimmering blue when he gripped her into a hug as well.

Hugs all around, really. Hope lost track of how many people she actually hugged, in fact, she didn't remember much of that lunch until later when she had to empty it into a toilet after stuffing her face a bit too much (hospital food was nothing compared to the real thing). Being back in those walls gave her such comfort and relief, like coming home after being away for such a long time. She had missed it.

"Miss Potter."

Hope turned and grinned as her Head of House finally approached the table that she had been forced to sit at, squashed between her best friends. "Hey, Professor! Miss me while I was away?"

Her cheeky grin almost made the professor give a derisive snort, but her restraint was tremendous.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter," she said simply.

Hope's beaming grin widened and her eyes lightened to a hazel identical to her father's. "Thanks. Its great to be back."

And she wasn't lying.

**AN: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! Please review some more! (I wasn't really pleased with this chapter, so tell me what you think :])**


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